Silent Noise
by Shruika
Summary: Hiruma Youichi,frustrated because of an incident he'd like to cover up with the feeling of success.But will he be able to handle what happened in his past or will it chase him,despite the things he achieved:Friends and a goal to let disappear his boredom?
1. Annoying

Silence. Finally. Finally it was completely still and for the first time in weeks he was able to let his mind calm down. There were annoying, little birds chirping in the trees in front of the entrance, roadmen working with their heavy gears right under them, talking and laughing people walking past the bureau building he lived in for nearly five years now. But it was _silent_.

Hiruma Youichi took a deep breath without anyone noticing while standing in his balcony door's frame and staring at the bright sky, his arms crossed upon his chest.

Usually everything in his brain was fed up with work; thinking about the opponents' next steps, new tactics for the battlefield called American Football Court, the best methods of using his underlings who were, at least in the eyes of outsiders, nothing more than slaves. As a matter of course, that applied to most of them although some individuals emerged to have more character than others. But nothing he could not handle. He normally thought about the most effective training methods, of how to deal with the problems raising equally to the advancement of the Deimon Devilbats, of new chances for proving their skills, not only to the opponent but to themselves, as well. His mind was captured by all these thoughts. And these were too complex, too critical, too provident and too rushing as if anyone had the chance to follow or to relieve him of some.

So he would always treasure the moments of complete silence. It didn't matter if there was noise around him; as someone who steadily shot around with bazookas, flame-throwers, Smith&Wesson's, Magnums, rifles and of course his beloved machine guns, the seventeen year old was used to (cause an) uproar. It was easier to cut out all the noise around him and shut his pointed, pierced ears to ignore the riot of daily life, daily training, daily idiots begging for mercy while he was blackmailing them with this typical evil grin on his sharp-cut face.

Intelligence – he wouldn't want to miss his subtle mind but there was no doubt that sometimes it could become just as annoying as someone not reacting the way he predicted it.

_Silence. Silence meant vacantness, a blank mind._

_Nothing, really nothing went through his head in this precious moment._

The blonde with the spiky styled hair closed his dark eyes.

Nothingness meant complete relaxation. And the more aggressive he behaved towards nearly every person approaching him, the more he longed for a moment of tranquilness.

So far for that topic – because in this moment one of his numerous mobile phones ringed.

At once Hiruma Youichi's eyes dashed open, his pupils almost vertical by fury and disappointment. The fury prevailed though.

A bit frustrated, the high schooler left his place on the threshold of his small balcony and gripped angrily into the sports bag all his restored phones lied. Without even spending one second to the thought if it really was the right one he gripped, he opened it and awaited the caller's voice.

'... please, don't hang up.'

Hiruma tensed up immediately and his mind was running at its usual speed, hunting his mind down with all of its mastery, desperately searching for a way to annihilate this situation as if it had never happened.  
Instead of hanging up, his own voice didn't show the slightest hint of tension, neither his fury nor his feeling of being committed.

'Shut it. Have anything important to tell me, tell it now. Otherwise my time's too precious as to waste it on the phone.'

Some seconds passed by until the answer came.

'I really am proud of you, Youichi, you know', the male voice said and there seemed to resonate a kind of sadness.

'I once tried to call you a few weeks ago. But you didn't answer the phone so I assumed you were very busy and left a message...'

'Yeah, so what? Finished already?'

The blonde teenager paced up and down in his small room, every now and then looking outside the open window into the wide, clear sky. That was it. Whilst the rare silence, his mind was clear like the sky today. This was the first time he really was concious about why he was staring all the time into the vastness above his head as soon as silence laid down in his raging thoughts. Why hadn't he noticed before?

'Youichi...', the voice on the other end of the wire started again. 'Don't you think it would be easier for yourself if you just accepted my apology? I know you probably won't ever come back and that I have no right to call myself like I did when you were younger. But situation's changed by now; you changed, I did, as well, and there is no reason for you to cling to the past. Why won't you let go?'

Okay, that was enough, definitely enough. Hiruma wasn't keen on listening to anything this person was going to tell him in the next few minutes. No fucking need, no thanks and no.

'Shut the fuck up and get off my back. The one not letting go of the past is you, so mind your own business.'

The demon-like student didn't hear any response for he had already hung up and thrown the phone onto the pile poking out of the sports bag on the ground. In the next instant he had slammed his entrance door, stepped before the grey building and set off.  
Still those annoying birds sang their shitty songs in every tree he passed with the wide steps of his long, slender legs and it was sufficient to just point his black rifle once into the branches, together with a deadly glare, and the small blackbirds flew away to a place safer than their actual one. Which wouldn't be difficult.

_Perfect_, Hiruma thought ironically whilst he had the urge to shoot something or somebody down. Ideas of how he could attain this intention in order to get over his truly bad mood came up in his mind, flashing past his inner eye; mere schemes, some of them rejected instantly, some picked out and kept safe for later purpose.

After about fifteen minutes the blonde had reached his goal: _Deimon High School_. Of course, he was much too late, but that didn't bother him. He didn't necessarily need to attend class to be able to pass every possible exam coming up in this or any other school. Until the phone call of his former father he had intended to stay today at a place like the rooftop of some high building in town where he would have been under perfect conditions to enjoy his own _silence_.

Well, so much for that. Now he had at least the chance to screw the fucking Amefuto team members. If that wasn't something worth coming to school every day - at the latest in the afternoon when their usual training started. A little smirk showed up on his attractive face.

Just when Hiruma was about to kick open the door to his classroom, he heard one of the few phones he brought to school vibrate in his jacket's pocket. He ignored it, used his special way of opening doors and grinned at his teacher who looked shocked, forced himself to a faint smile and continued with class, desperately doing his best in ignoring the cheeky but absolutely superior genius sitting at the window in the last row.

Youichi remembered that there was no silence from where he came. There had never been. It was better to make it appear on one's own than to expect it from others. Same went for trust. Especially when there was no point in relying on people who gambled away their right to be called like 'father' or 'mother' or what the hell else. Of course, he himself gambled like the world's champion but unlike many others he knew he possessed the skills to do so. The interesting thing in life was gambling and winning. There was no sense in losing, so all he had to do was winning, over and over again. So that there wouldn't be any frustrations ever again. That's how it worked.


	2. Auspicious

Training had been most pleasant today; the shrimp had have to improve his stamina, as well as the other idiots and Hiruma wasn't the kind person who would refuse them the chance. So, whilst chasing the shrimp, the Huh-Huh-brothers, the monkey, the baldy, the little and the big fatty with fusillades of bullets and his evil kackling, they had run their labs. First on the school ground, later on the dyke and when the totally exhausted team was allowed to take a rest, Hiruma Youichi – besides Musashi, who didn't need to be pushed, and Anezaki Mamori, who had her own duties to fullfill – was the only one seeming as fresh and not worn out as before.

Inwardly, he felt both happy and tired. Happy - naturally, because it was always fun to see the shocked and with fear painted faces of his team members when he showed them his shadowy evil smirking and began to fire bullet after bulltet at them, so they had no chance but to do what he ordered them to. Tired – well, even if he gave away the image of an untouchable, inhuman demon, he was in fact made of bones and flesh and therefore it did have an effect on him, carrying and swinging around his heavy weapons, enduring the hard backlashes when he fired and not losing any of his speed while running.

As a matter of fact, the blonde did feel exhausted, too, but there was no chance he would ever let any living person know. For weakness meant one was vulerable, no matter if it was physically or mind-related. The opponent would always use the slightest chance to strike if one showed an opening. If it was part of one of his own plans, okay. Tactic was another subject.

After the team got back to the clubhouse and they all had changed out of their sweaty clothes, their beloved manager had already been thoughtful enough to prepare some cold drinks. Relieved, every player sat down at the table, knocked back their drinks and started to chatter about how the day had been and how they would be able to face their next opponent. Like often, the captain and quarterback sat still on his chair, feet on the desk top, typing fast on his laptop's keyboard. The only noise that escaped his mouth was the low sound of him bursting his bubble gum. Hiruma didn't react when Anezaki took a seat beside him, laughed with Sena about a joke Monta had made and asked the others about their well-being. He didn't react either, as Ishimaru appeared out of nowhere – apologising for coming this late because of his part-time job.

Sun had set, the sky darkened and even darker clouds showed those, who looked up for a second, how late it was by now.

At about nine thirty p. m. one after another stood up, said goodbye and left for home.

'Are you spending half of the night in the clubhouse again?', Anezaki asked when the last one had left. The brunette girl was half worried, half shirty because it was just unreasonable to stay that long in a small clubhouse on school's ground if one was able to use their computer at home, just as well.

'Nothing of your business, fucking manager', was the reply. The blonde didn't even bother now to look up but was concentrating on the luminescent screen on his knees.

Anezaki rolled with her eyes, took her light coat, went to the door and opened it but hesitated for a moment, before turning around one last time.

'Sometimes a good rest's better for good results than crucifying ones own brain throughout the whole night until dawn. Just don't you think you would be something better than us other members.'

And she closed the door quietly behind her. Inwardly, Hiruma sighed. This girl probably would never stop acting like a clucking hen. Even though her behaviour towards the little shrimp wasn't as crazy mother-like as to the beginning, she still tried to care for everybody. Sometimes it really was annoying. Nevertheless, the fucking manager was one of those few who were able to face Hiruma Youichi and argue with him. And normally one single glance of his dark eyes together with the twinkle of his sharp teeth was enough to let other people tremble in fear and lose all of their self-confidence.

But – the tactics he had invented in the last hours whilst the team had had its deserved rest, were utterly important for their next match. Additionally, it helped him being occupied with evolving strategies because during that time his whole mind was focused on this one affair and no other disturbing thoughts could enter his busy head. It was almost like a red string holding his thoughts together as to not letting him lose his real aim. And that was important for him.

Focusing, concentrating, playing, winning.

Hiruma yawned and streched his arms above his head. He didn't like to admit it, but the fucking manager was right – sometimes even he was better off, sleeping a few hours more than he usually did. Even his mind needed at least some time to rest, to cool and to calm down. After closing his laptop and putting all his things into his bag, the teenager was just about to turn off the lights when one of his phones vibrated soundlessly. With his long fingers he fished it out of his pocket – like always not telling his name but waiting for the caller's.

'Hey, feel like meeting with your chance to get a new slave, Mr. Smart-arse?'

A wide, demonic grin.

'Tche. Finally managed to work together with the brain of yours, fucking dreads?'

Sleep had to wait this night.


	3. Unimpressive

They met somewhere in the city centre; the countless lights of advertisement and neon signs created an atmosphere of cold daylight in which it did not matter if one was real or not.

Kongo Agon wasn't alone and it didn't surprise Hiruma that he was surrounded by three girls, staring up to him in both admiration and attraction, sometimes giggling when Agon smiled behind his modern glasses. The younger one of the Kongo twins knew how to deal with the other gender and he loved it. Nonetheless, when the Shinryuuji Naga player noticed Hiruma drawing nearer, he said goodbye to the girls who reacted surprised and a little bit disappointed but started to chatter lively – probably about him – as they departed.

The two young men stared at each other; the blonde with a devilish piercing glare, the dark brown with a looking down one, grinning as vicious as his counterpart.

Two animals in a competition of power, defined trough their own self-confidence.

None of them retreated.

For outsiders it would have seemed like an equal match, although neither Youichi nor Agon thought that way.

After a few seconds had passed, they both sat down on a bench, letting the mass of people pass by. There was never a time this city was completely asleep. Everything moved on, at times more slowly, at other times faster than before. Night faded into day, sun- into neon light.

'So, what d'you have to offer, fucking dreads, for calling me out?', Hiruma asked.  
'It's been a time since you and I have dealt together. I'm sorry to disappoint you but I didn't miss you enough to bring flowers, so get to the point.'

Agon grinned wide and as he took off his obscured glasses, all the tenderness and friendliness he had shown towards the girls were gone, his eyes were viciously and his whole attitude dangerously violent.

'Yeeah', he answerd expanded. 'I thought so. You're as impatient as always. Unfortunately, that's a characteristic we share. It's an insult for me that trash like you misleadingly could be compared to me.'

Hiruma raised an eyebrow. Unimpressed. He would never be afraid of Kongo Agon. Or anyone else. There was no need for him to be. Nobody was in the position to stand up to a real demon. And he was one if he wanted to. Hiruma Youichi liked to be a demon. It fit him perfectly and no person had ever told him otherwise. Lucky one.

'Kekeke... Still the narcistic, two-faced dickhead, aren't we? There's no point in smalltalk with a small-fry if it doesn't lead to something worth the annoying noise you produce.'

The look in Agon's eyes got a hint colder whilst the quarterback acted totally relaxed. After a slight pause, the Shinryuuji player spoke again.

'There's some trash I want to beat up. But they're in an area monitored by cameras and by hacking into their computers you could get some precarious information whilst I have my fun with them personally. It's a pachinko hall nearby.'

'Such important work', Hiruma replied sarcastically. 'Why the hell don't you just bait those idiots out of their nice patchinko hall and take care of them in some unseen alley? Or do you conceal something important, fucking dreads?'

'The circumstances are irrelevant – just make sure to tie up the cameras in the hall and don't worry about things filthy trash like you shouldn't be interested in.'

He pointed at another bench standing on the opposite side of the street; people walked by but with a glimpse Hiruma had spotted the man who sat there. His hat couldn't cover the fear written clearly onto his face as he noticed Agon pointing in his direction.

'That's a staff member of the implied amusement arcade. Somehow we happened to get along with each other quite well – after I broke his metacarpal bone, that is.'

Agon seemed to enjoy the situation. And in this moment no living person would have dared to say otherwise.

'He'll give you access to his computer. He doesn't know any of the important passwords but that's your business, anyway. Got it?'

Hiruma's answer was a demonic grin that showed his pointed teeth.

'That's a ridiculous task. Give me one good reason not to stand up now and let the police find video material documenting your little _fun trip_. I suppose they don't get a good idea of you if they find you coming to blows _again_.'

Agon's facial features became harder and an evil anger seethed under his surface.

'...You'll get what you need for _your own_ pathetic trip. For your shitty team, as well as for you. There was something you wanted to get your hands on, wasn't there? You'll get it without lifting a finger; in return you have to keep me the police at arm's length. Deal, you scum?'

'Deal, fucking dreads.'


	4. Sleeping

Thank you for the reviews until now - I'm glad if you like the story. :-)

* * *

He looked at the dial of his clock: five thirty-eight a. m. Unlike most of the time, in this moment no unnecessary sound was to be heard. No birds, no road men, no people who produced weird noise and of course no neighbours either because the building he lived in was in fact a business hotel with only some bureaus and rooms in use. It was quiet when Hiruma entered his apartement, soundlessly closed the door behind himself and stepped into his room where he let fall his jacket, including several Smith&Wesson's as well as a few nice little bombs.

There hadn't been the urgency to make use of them but a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Without taking off his shoes, the blonde high schooler fell onto his bed. Under his chest and right arm's skin he felt something crackle; the sheets of paper he had written new moves on yesterday for his Amefuto team. But in this moment, he didn't care. He didn't care at all. All he wanted to do was sleeping. Didn't matter if he had to stand up at the latest at seven o'clock. Just closing his eyes, floating away on a tender wave of dim fatigue, dim nothingness, as long as he had the chance.

And he welcomed the darkness embracing him in the next seconds.

* * *

'Hiruma-senpai – are you alright?'

The question was asked by Kobayakawa Sena, the Running Back of the Deimon Devilbats, and his slightly trembling voice sounded highly confused, even afraid.

Slowly the one spoken to turned around, eyes glistening and the next moment a shrieking Running Back ran for his very life, avoiding in hard zigzag turns the more or less deadly bullets aiming only milimetres afar of his feet.

He'd known it was a stupid question to ask his captain! He would have never reacted differently – such a stupid question and his suicidal tongue had just stated it without caring the slightest bit for his dear life!  
Relieved to be still in the condition to feel his own heart beating, Sena disappeared behind one of the school buildings.

Mentioned captain stood in front of the clubhouse, the black rifle in his slender hands still smouldering and pointed ears twitching as he heard someone chuckle. From the corner of his eye he noticed one of his two best friends approaching.

'He just wanted to know if you were alright, Hiruma', Musashi said with a slight grin on his face which appeared older than it actually was. Although he didn't look like one, seeing his angular facial features and five o'clock shadow, he still was a high schooler and about the same age as his mates Kurita Ryoukan and Hiruma Youichi. And as well as those two he had his place in the school's Amefuto team as the reliable Kicker.

The blonde smirked. It rang for the last lessons before lunch break but neither he nor Musashi moved, although there was no aggravating tension between them. Musashi, after all, was the only one to be able to see through any kind of lie Youichi would put up. That was definitely one of the few surprises in life, the demon of Deimon High had to accept as a simple fact he probably would never know how to change.

'So what?', he asked back, showing his sharp teeth which didn't impress his counterpart in the slightest.  
'Would be better for him, worrying about himself and his stamina. The fucking shrimp has to improve, otherwise Cerberos will get some time play with him.'

Oh, he could easily imagine how the shrimp would run by the time he himself had unleashed his little but nevertheless mischievous pet – Cerberus, a dog with a grand spiky collar and an ever hungry stomach. Since the opinionated dog only followed Hiruma's orders, it wasn't difficult to visualise what was waiting for those asses attracting his displeasure.

'That's not the point', Musashi retorted and now his eyes gazed at the tall quarterback with concern.  
'You know as well as myself that you're more exhausted than you'd admit. What've you been doing lately? Wanna share the fun?'

'Nope, fucking old man. Just concentrate on the next match and the world will happily circle further on.'

A short pause but the Kicker didn't let himself be messed around by this inconspicuous gesture. He knew Hiruma Youichi too long as to fall for a trap or one of his mind games.

'Interested in having a pint after training? Got something to talk to you about, old man', the blonde suddenly said.

A shrug.

'Sure. As long as you invite me, 'cause I'm skint ...'

'Tche...'

But Hiruma raised one hand leisurely when he walked toward the school building and Musashi couldn't suppress a smile. This devil... In his mind the word long ago wasn't an insult anymore for his friend. Just the name for a fact everyone had to accept.


	5. Knowing

'So – what'ya have to talk about?'

Musashi stared unabashed at his friend and waited for an answer. It came like he had expected it to come.

'Don't get all curious and mother-like now, fucking old man', Hiruma said and stirred up his drink.

The two students were sitting in a little café, the window glass just to their side.

Training had been like usual and beside Sena nobody had had the urge to ask about Hiruma's welfare. Rather, the team members had seemed to try excelling today as if something was speeding them up.

_Better for them_, their evil captain had thought, just as Monta, the Receiver, had caught one of his super long passes flawlessly. _Don't they dare losing sight of the Christmas Bowl, those fucking mugs_. But he had kicked everyone's arses happily without saying anything after the end of the training session.

'It's just about some moves – you've got to know them first hand 'cause it's essential that you can do them immediately after the signal you'll get.'

'Sure', Musashi replied with an easeful smile, before speaking along: 'Geez, Hiruma. Do you really think I'd fall for this shit you're telling me? I'm disappointed if that's the case, you should know me better. Just like I know right now, that it's not about some move, you could easily explain me during training, but something more serious you have to talk. Why else would we come to our favourite café, hm? You even stopped gnawing on your chewing gum! So stop screwing around already, mate.'

His _mate's_ glare was dangerously piercing and for a moment it looked like the slender but well-trained quarterback was about to stand up and hold his rifle under Musashi's chin. But seconds elapsed and nothing of the like happened.  
Then, without any sign, Hiruma closed his eyes for a moment. His aggressive aura didn't vanish but a sensation of weary resignation sneaked into it.  
As he began to speak, his voice didn't show any evidence of uncertainty.

'Che... still talking big.'

There was no anger about this declaration's content, just accepting. And the pretence that in this moment the blonde hadn't a single good idea how to announce what was bothering him.

The Kicker of the Devilbats waited patiently. It was extremely seldom that Hiruma hesitated. Under normal circumstances he just said, chuckled or shouted clearly and without false sympathy what he wanted others to know. There were neither hesitation nor insecurity.  
Therefore, it had to be something important which he was awaiting now silently. One more reason to be patient.

And eventually Hiruma rose to speak again.

'_He_ called. Didn't think he'd find out the number that fast but that's how it is. It resembles him to talk that fucking smart-aleck, although nothing surprising or new came out. Anyway, you are aware of how to deal with anything uncommon – inform me at once and don't you dare keeping the tiniest thing secret, no matter what it is. I'm not fancy letting me being overtaken by that bloody-minded wrinkly. Hope, you're satisfied now, old man. Too much information could destroy your brains, you know.'

There it was back: The vicious smirk showing up on Hiruma Youichi's face, just as if he had seen the enemy do exactly the move he had made them do. And Musashi was glad about it. His friend wasn't the kind of person who'd let go of an aim because there were obstacles. In the contrary, the more difficult something became, the more fun the intimidating blonde had. No wonder, he used every bidden chance coming to a battle of wits. For a young high schooler with a superior intelligence like his, it wasn't easy to find things that kept him entertained.

Fortunately, in the age of ten he had gotten in contact with American Football for the first time in his life. And from the very start he was fascinated by it. It was violent and intellectual at the same time. It was a challenge. And it remained a challenge, throughout all his middle school years and up until now, when he attended the Deimon High School. Well, occasionally. That was something depending on his mood, like various things in his behaviour and life were.

The muscular Kicker who sat opposite Hiruma seemed calm and collected, like most of the time.

'Alright, Hiruma', he answered after a pause in which he had looked Youichi straight in the eyes as if searching for something.

'I'll be attentive. Don't worry; I'll do my job. Outside the court as well as the Kicker of our team.'

They both grinned. The shadows had become longer and cars were driving past their café's window. Sounds of birds, foot passengers, busses and in between the low voices of the waitresses asking the other guests about their wishes... and right in the middle two American Football players, sitting together in silent agreement and just enjoying the unwound mood between special friends.


	6. Provocative

_'Get out.'_

_He didn't move an inch._

_'Get out!'_

_He saw light particles of dust slowly floating down the road of light that shone through the window. Afternoon was coming and the air was milde and dry. There was the sound of water flowing along the street outside. The smell of summer lightly streamed through his nose and was oddly enough very calming whilst the adults in front of him were staring at him in anger._

_'Get out, Youichi, or I swear, I'm going to forget myself!!'_

_The ten year old boy didn't react first, only looked back up into those eyes full of rejection._

_He already knew the definition of the word 'rejection', as well as those for 'anger', 'fury', 'hate', 'cruelty' and 'loneliness'. The pages of the dictionaries he had read up until now were clearly copied into his head; there was no way he would ever unlearn them._

_A big hand reached out and grabbed the child at the collar of his shirt. The man shook him, not too hard but enough to let his vision blur. Black strands of hair fell over Youichi's eyes and he grit his small but nevertheless sharp teeth together._

_'Didn't I say it clearly enough for you?!', his father shouted. 'I've got to manage something and right now there's no time for you! Why won't you even understand the easiest things? You really can be a shame, do you understand at least that much?!'_

_The woman said and did nothing but standing beside the window. She had turned her head away and looked like she was going to leave the room every moment. Her arms were wrapped around the upper part of her body as if she wanted to hold herself because no-one else did. Or because she was afraid to lose something._

_Hiruma had no idea what that could have been._

_In the meantime, his father had put him down onto the ground again but his hand still gripped his son's collar. Anger. It made his face blushing. His sinews emerged and the black haired child could see the blood pulsing through the veines on the neck but he didn't respond._

_The flutter of a bird, perhaps a pigeon. The light of the afternoon sun, casting and protracting umbrages over the world he lived in. Umbrages... Silent, dark shadows..._

_The slap in the face didn't hurt at all. Well, at least the boy told himself so, although his right cheek bone started to burn. It didn't hurt at all. That was nothing. It was irrelevant, ridiculous, without any importance and it just showed him that his father wasn't as intelligent as he pretended to be. Wasn't either as good or as caring as adults should be._

_Hiruma had read books and articles about the topic 'Incompetence concerning parenting'. He had read about the indications of that object, about the possible dimensions, the consequences and about the violence. It didn't have to be physical violence, it could also become noticeable via abuse or estrangement. Between the parents or both of them and the child._

_His father using inappropriate methods like getting him scared or ignoring him was definitely proof of his own incompetence, Youichi thought rationally._

_On the one hand, Youichi wanted to ask his father why he behaved like he did. Wanted to know why he couldn't accept him, couldn't face him calmly, couldn't acknowledge him, or speak with him like other parents did.  
__On the other hand, he was afraid of knowing the answer yet. Because even with his own smart head and fast thoughts, he couldn't find any rational reason for his father's behaviour. _

_So he stayed still and wordless until the big hand let go of him._

_'Don't you dare coming back before I tell you', said Hiruma-san and was already turning back to the woman. 'Go, play with some neighbourhood kids and don't forget your homework. We're eating dinner at around seven thirty. Now get you gone!'_

_Obviously, his father wasn't aware that he didn't play with the neighbourhood kids. That he didn't play with any children at all, regardless their age or character. He knew so less, it was pitiful for an adult, the boy thought.  
_

_And the black-haired left the room quietly, without any sob, without tears. It was unreasonable to cry. And totally irrelevant, completely useless. He knew at least that much for it hadn't ever helped him anyone if he had been crying in the past. But that was long ago. Showing emotions this way led nowhere. Such emotions didn't bring you forward. They were ballast._

_For outsiders this attitude of a ten year old boy would have probably come across as hard-boiled know-all manner. But it wasn't. Aside from the fact that he himself had already recognised that he somehow thought in a different way than other kids his age and even adults, his head didn't let him follow false hints regarding the attitude, behaviour and characteristics of the people surrounding him. The analysing followed nearly self-acting and was very acurately itself. It often happened that he afforded his counterpart just by confronting it with his results. Although one should mention, as well, that Hiruma Youichi - already in this tender age - actually had no dread to lie heaven and earth or to try blackmailing people with either his previous knowledge or quite simply a directly set up new lie._

_The elementary school student wasn't afraid of adults or strangers. If he wanted something, he would most probably be able to get it himself. Yet with his ten years Hiruma didn't held off to bluff. With the raging thoughts in his head, in a split second he could come up with wild ideas - the only thing he had to do was choosing one of the numerous possible acts that occured to his mind.  
So the boy with the wispy black hair, the pointed ears which, at first glance, gave him a fairylike appearance and the evaluating, profound eyes made fun of people. By stunning them with his quick answers or reasoned questions, by outsmarting the adult fools they were to his mind, he felt like there was at least one cause for his difference to others: provocations._


	7. Dear

She stared at him. Agitated. He stared back. Placid. With one skilful blow Anezaki Mamori dashed down the broom, missing her target only for centimetres because her target was none other than Hiruma Youichi who, in turn, would never let himself be hurt by a household appliance.

'Kekeke...', the demon-like 2nd year high school student cackled with a wide grin on his face.

'What do you think you're trying there, fucking manager? Shouldn't you being outside with the rest of the team, looking for them? I bet they're really missing you right now...'

With an earnest but also irate expression on her usually composed smiling face, the brunette girl raised her rather inconvenient weapon again and answered:

'Yes, they are. And whose faulte do you think it is, Hiruma? Everyone gave it their best and you still made them practise for another fifty minutes! No wonder, they can't stand no longer and have to cool their muscles and have to -'

'Yeah, yeah', the blonde interrupted her reproachful tirade, sounding bored.  
'I already know it all. Have nothing new to tell me? Of course they had to practice for another fifty minutes – haven't you noticed at all that I extend the time of training every session for a few minutes?! How could they ever increase their stamina and become better if they don't get the chance to go beyond their limits bit by bit. Don't fucking meddle in my methods, fucking manager. Do your job as what it is and don't waste your time on telling me severe lectures. If you have that much time to care for my education, you can as well care for those whom it means something to.'

Mamori paused, still frowning but then drooped her broom. For a second she looked down onto the ground of the clubhouse as if she wasn't sure what to do next, before walking outside the open door without another word. In one hand still the broom, in the other a first-aid kit. The light green skirt of her flagged in the kindly breeze coming up and Hiruma looked down at his laptop's screen.

The numerous windows overlapping each other and showing explosive information about certain people were closed and the handsome student put the computer into his bag whilst in the same motion he conjured up a strip of chewing gum. With his things all packed up, the quarterback left them on his usual chair and went to the locker room in the back of the clubhouse, or - to be more precise - to the clubhouse's left side where the new building had been constructed by the team's Kicker, Musashi. For his father having led his own company of workmen and giving the supervision and a big part of the organisation of the firm to his son, it had been a great step, as well to support _Takemura Gen_ – so his real name – when this decided to rejoin the Amefuto team and to train again.

Youichi opened the door of his spint and took out a fresh set of clothes – black jeans and a close, black shirt. Changing out of his sweaty training suit, he could make out some of the chatter outside with his pointed ears. As he stood there, bare-chested, still sweaty and with strands of blonde hair falling over his left eye, a slightly oppressing feeling crept over him. He couldn't figure out what it was exactly though...

Hiruma shook his head, wiped himself off the dirt of today's practise and got dressed. When he turned around to go back into the front clubhouse, grab his bag and finish the debriefing with his teammates whom he would have yelled at to get their arses hither the next moment, he paused.

His gaze vacant, his earrings still jingling because of the sudden stop of motion.

_'What did you do wrong this time, Youichi?'_

No. That wasn't for real. He knew damn well that this was some bloody kind of hallucination, either caused by his exhaustion or some drug somebody had somehow managed to palm off on him; neither more nor less. Fuck, why the hell couldn't he move his limbs?!

_'Tell me'_, the soft voice said. _'Tell me. I'm your mother, I'm supposed to know which evil thing you did again, Youichi.'_

Don't fucking call me that!, Hiruma wanted to shout at her; he wanted to scare her so she'd disappear to where she had come from. But no single sound eluded his lips pressed together. A drop of sweat rolled down his pale face whilst he faced the closed entrance door of the clubhouse. Nobody was there. And yet this voice held the quarterback captive, forbade him to move a muscle and forced him to listen to what was only said in his mind. Over and over again, like thus many times before.

_'Won't you behave now? Little boy, won't you finally do what your father tells you? It was wrong of you not to listen to what he said._

What did you do this time, Youichi? Did you left home without telling him so? Did you stay away for too long? Or were you cheeky again? You know it's no good to behave like that. You know it's unforgivable to disobey your parents in such an opinionated and selfish way.

... but you never did otherwise. Why can't you be like other children, why aren't you as innocent and dear as them? I don't understand you anymore. I'm not even able to talk to you any longer for you've got this dreadful ability of screwing up anything I say. Isn't that something a child shouldn't do to his parents?'

Creeping shadows... the sun sinking deeper and deeper at the horizon, vanishing behind the school buildings, behind the trees... further creeping shadows, longing for someone to touch for they can't feel a thing, can't change a thing but other shadows...

The chirping of birds in the branches of the trees standing near the clubhouse, so annoying but real. _Real_. Yeah, fucking real noise, thought Hiruma.

And straightened up.

The unwelcome, mean hallucination was gone. A hallucination or rather a recollection...?

The seventeen year old frowned, took a deep breath and stretched his long, scrawny fingers before snatching up his bag and heading outside to his teammates near the training grounds..

He'd never care for that woman. He didn't give a fuck about her. So why the hell did she have to bother him even in his already rushing, crowded thoughts?! Shitty people always came to those who didn't give a damn about their companionship.

And those people one was yearning for were never there to be reached. They were more a hallucination than the loneliness that rose when the dark, starred nights came. So much more...


	8. Interrogative

'Hiruma-san...'

A piercing glare.

'May I ask you something, Hiruma-san...?', one of the discipline committee officers demanded with a slightly trembling voice and looked up to the captain of the Amefuto club who was standing in front of the other players sitting on benches on the fringes of the court.

'Nope, you may not, fucking bootlicker', said the tall blonde guy and turned around to face the other team members with whom he'd just had a discussion. Everyone wanted to finish today's training session but a discussion after the physical work was important to avoid repeating faults concerning techniques and the like and to talk the upcoming matches over.

'B-But Hiruma-san!', the 3rd year high school student ground out. He was more persistent than supposed. Sena and the _Huh-Huh-Brothers_ were already gesturing cautionary in his direction in order to keep him from getting on their captain's nerves. But some people just don't get the broad hint.

'It really is important that you listen to me! Many of our kohais have confided in us, the discipline officers of Deimon High, and we have to make sure everything goes well and without problems. I don't want to accuse you of anything horrible, such as – for example – blackmailing certain students and – perhaps – even teachers of our school, but...

Please, Hiruma-san, won't you stop – err – carrying around such dangerous weapons' imitations? That doesn't really fit our school's spirit, you know, and it's a little bit... intimidating for others?'

A nervous sniggering that rather was a choked sound.

The quarterback's grin had grown wider and wider in the meantime and now his sharp teeth were seen, as well as that special, badly perilous sparkle in his dark, alarmingly intelligent eyes.

As he spoke, a thrill went down everybody's spine who was near enough to hear him.

'_Weapons' imitations_, you say? Let's see... I could promise never ever to bring such disgusting things to this precious school or yours, fucking bootlicker.'

Just as the older student was about to let out a relieved, thankful sigh, a demonical laughter filled the air and with the words:

'The hell I care for some fucking imitations! Shove off, you bothersome nil! Ya-haa!!',

Hiruma Youichi aimed his definitely NOT faked machinegun and released a fusillade of bullets.

In terror the meddlesome praefect fled for his very life.

Conversation finished. That easy it was, thought a certain demon pleased.

Now, back to the other one.

'Was it really necessary to be so horrid towards him?', asked Anezaki considerately whilst looking into the direction the other discipline officer – someone she knew due to the fact that she was one herself and had to go to meetings sometimes – had disappeared. Then she turned her face back to the quarterback who was yet describing how they all would practise the next time, so everybody could get ready in their free-time. If it was free-time anymore.

The brunette girl sighed in the face of such ignorance. She knew how he was and wasn't surprised that their genius captain didn't waste one second over a person that gave him neither helpful information so he could use them nor represented any kind of possible enemy.

But Monta had heard her and immediately tried to back his adored rather beloved manager:

'Yeah, yeah! Mamori-nee-san is totally right, Hiruma-senpai!!', he shouted and raised his big hand full of verve to support his words.

'If she thinks it was too cruel how you shot at that officer or so, you must contain yourself more MAX!!'

A rain of bullets silenced him effectively.

After another twenty minutes had passed, the Devilbat players were finally released and allowed to go home.

It was then that Youichi withdrew from the others - who were changing clothes, chattering away and packing their own things – back into the shadows of some trees in the middle of the schoolyard to be for himself. He didn't need to be disturbed in moments like these. Although they were bothersome nevertheless.

The sound was utterly annoying. Annoying and noisy and it nearly made Hiruma mad having to pick up his little phone for he didn't want the others to know something that was nothing to them. Additionally, it was rather rare anyway that someone called him. Besides Musashi sometimes.

'… Hello, Youichi.'

'What the fuck is it this time?', asked the one spoken to unnerved.

A sigh.

'Nothing in particular. I just happened to stop by your school and although it's already about a quarter to six, I could see some students doing sports and so on… Well, I thought, maybe I could speak to you a bit. … are you still listening, Youichi?'

'Don't call me like that, wrinkly. Obviously, you don't know what's healthy for you. Thanks for the charming offering but I refuse. I already told you a fucking hundred of times that I don't give a shit about your whereabouts or anything coming out of your rotten mouth. So don't you dare showing up in place that shouldn't interest you in the slightest, bloody doter.'

He saw Yukimitsu-kun as the last one leaving the school's ground through the entrance.

Tche, the fucking baldy really had advanced lately. Well, at least one could rely on his brains for his physical weakness was throughout and would always be noticeable, no matter how much he trained from now on. Almost seventeen years of sitting in front of desks wouldn't just vanish into nothingness without any consequences.

'... I'm sorry. But I have to call you like that. Because otherwise I couldn't bear talking to you. Even if you deny it, you're _Youichi_. And frankly, I'm happy for having given you this name.

... You really hate me, don't you, Youichi?'


	9. Fragile

'Che', Hiruma spat out, 'of course, I do. Why do you even bother to ask such a stupid question? Anyway, there's no point in talking. It'd be a great enrichment for the world and especially myself if you had the kindness to just disappear and never call this number – which I'm, by the way, going to change – again.'

The blonde student with the spiky hair and the black earrings was about to hang up when the voice of his father said something. Something he wasn't able to ignore.

'_And Love said No / And I begged / Begged for so long to let me go / But Love said No._

You remember it, don't you, Youichi? Of course, you do. How could you forget. How could I, myself? I brought them with me. In case you wanted to read them once more. But I guess you'd be more willing to face the visage of the most holy god than your own – well, father.'

'Damn right, fucking _biological genitor_.'

'Nonetheless, I think it should be okay for both of us to meet at least once in a while. I have to make sure you're alright. And I'd like you to have a look again on her letters.'

'Sure, why not trying another funny method of being a nuisance, after a few years without the chance to be have passed?! And now, have guess. One of the two statements I'm making is a lie. Which of them?

I don't want to read her letters and hell would freeze over before I'll get the intention of meeting you ever again.'

'... the second, Youichi', answered the voice and sounded sadly, gloomily.

'Nope, I lied from the fucked up beginning! So leave me be.'

'... just one moment. I'm handing them over to you. I know they're important for you, as well. Don't deny it. I'll meet you alongside the entrance of your school. If you don't come... well, there's nothing I could really do. Besides – but I don't have to say that, do I ?'

And with these words Hiruma Youichi's father ended the call.

The youngster himself was furious and clenched his long fingers around the closed phone whose display cracked low. How dared he?!

Curses rushed through his mind; dark, angry, fearsome and protecting. Covering. With all his swearing, cursing and blasphemous sayings, _no_ person did _not_ get the image of a more or less ticking bomb, ready to horrify anybody in reach – just for the sake of fun – or to explode and take every single unlucky victim with him. The difference was, Hiruma Youichi would rise again as if nothing had ever happened. Well, just like a demon. Especially, when there seemed to twitch some peculiar, pointed tail out of his buttocks and any bats suddenly appeared out of nowhere to flatter creepily behind his usually grinning face.

At any rate, he gave his best – intentionally or unintentionally – to scare his counterparts. And it worked quite impressing.

Chuntering, the American Football player walked towards the entrance, hands in his trouser pockets, bag over one shoulder.

His steps trailed off the closer he got. Something was wrong. It was wrong from the very beginning. Why did he have to follow _his_ orders? He didn't follow orders at all, that was a law of nature. Hiruma nearly bit his tongue; he detested the fact that he really had to make an exception this time. It was abhorrent.

Just like - ...

And he, himself, was despicable for having such a weakness, such an Achilles' heel.

Because this man – his father – still managed to frighten him.

Only three steps left. The teenager came to a halt, his eyes scanning every single detail around him, every corner they could reach for there wasn't allowed to exist even one hint unseen.

A shiver ran down Youichi's spine and for a moment he had goose bumps.

A breeze let the coloured leaves in the trees rustle. Oddly enough, it made him relax more than his normal black coffee every morning.

'Staring up into the sky? Not very like you, isn't it, Youichi.'

Hiruma looked into the direction the voice was coming from. He already knew exactly at which point and in what posture the man would be standing there, in front of the wall.

'Shut the fuck up. You know less about me than any fucking member of my team, so get to the point. It'll be the last time you'll get the chance to admire me in real. In your place, I'd hurry up and get rid of what I'd want to say in some impressive way. Make it snappy, damn wrinkly.'

And his father stepped out of the shadow of the wall.

'Long time no see', he said, smiled and raised his automatic pistol.

Birds flew in swarms out of the trees and into the just as well colourful sky when the shot shatterd the silence of the evening like fragile glass.


	10. Painful

Thank you very much for your hortative reviews. :-)

* * *

It hadn't always been like that.

In fact, not until Youichi had gotten thirteen. It was back then, at his birthday, that he had packed all his little possessions together into a rucksack and left the Hiruma household. Fortunately, he had already made preparations concerning a future accommodation, so after staying a few weeks in an abandoned old house outside of the city centre and near to the park, the boy had at last moved into the business hotel building. The two not too big rooms were more than enough for his requirements because usually he spent his time either in school or – more often – at the American Base where he had first gotten into contact with American Football. Since that time the Middle School student then had gambled with the soldiers and by time he managed to achieve an impressive amount of money. It didn't bother Hiruma that the treasury notes were foreign dollars.

Like he had once explained to his friend Kurita who held the position of the centre in their team, he wasn't primarily after the money itself.

He was after winning.

Winning was fun and that was the only reason he gambled and changed his appearance bit by bit. Not only did the fancy style, including bleaching his hair, adjusting it like a punk and piercing his anyway pointed ears even four times, fit his personality perfectly. It also was a means to an end when his foreign opponents in card games or strangers got scared just by noticing the demon-like student and made it even easier to distract them, to outsmart them.

It hadn't always been like that.

It hadn't always been like his father calling for him on the phone, trying to get in touch with him. Most of his childhood, the man calling himself _father_, was like a harrassment. He worked regularly, brought money home for food and what else but never embraced his son once. He was the chance of getting ignored, of getting a slap in the face again or being pushed away after another disappointment. When Youichi had heard the only woman in the apartement crying for _Yuuya_, he'd known that – again – it wasn't himself who should be there. That, although their names were so similar, only one of them was important enough to be spoken to, to be called with a voice such strongly.

Once, his mother had told him that it had been her husband who'd given him the name _Youichi_ for it sounded much like his own. At the beginning, the black haired boy had felt proud and a strange sensation coming up; maybe his father did feel something like affection towards him, maybe he, himself, was somehow important for him, as well.

But the inital joy had soon been crushed...

* * *

It burnt.  
The point the bullet had hit Hiruma burnt like hell.  
With his right hand he fumbled for his left shoulder but winced as he touched the wound lightly with his fingertips.  
Blood was soaking his shirt, colouring it even darker than it already was, and running down on his chest's skin until it was stopped by the belt that held his jeans together around his lean body.  
Youichi frowned without showing his pains and with cold eyes stared at the man in front of him who still held the weapon.

Then, before Hiruma Yuuya could even move one inch, the slender quarterback had ducked under the outstretched, gun-toting arm and in one flowing motion he extricated the automatic from his father's hand.  
Youichi pointed it directly at his counterpart, wrath flaming up inside of him as well as pain.  
What the fucking hell did he do wrong?! Eventually, it should have been okay to be left alone. He never demanded anything from this old man, he didn't owe him anything!  
At the same time, it was painful. Painful to face the man whom one should call _father_ although he didn't deserve it. Painful to see how one's own life didn't mean anything to a parent.

_Kekeke_, he thought doggedly. May it hurt even twice, that didn't mean he'd show it on the outside. Why should he care at all?!  
Another breeze let his fingers getting cold although it was still the end of summer. The metal of the gun laid lightly in his right hand; he was used to carry bigger, much heavier weaponry around all day long.

'What's wrong, Youichi?', asked his father.

_Shut your shitty trap_!, Hiruma wanted to shout, but then noticed that nothing came out of his mouth. It was as if the oxygen in his throat, in his lungs was suddenly gone. He panted for air and his gaze eclipsed when he saw his father smiling. Knowingly.

With a wheeze the blonde got on his knees, without caring if it hurt more, his hand pressed on the wounded shoulder to stop the blood from pouring further out. The automatic changed into his left hand but it was so numb he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to level it at his enemy.

A step. Another step.

'My, my', said a familiar sounding voice. 'Why didn't you just stand still, Youichi? Why did you manage to avoid it for a few but nevertheless very important centimetres? Well, I should be proud of your excellent moving skills, I suppose.

Ah! I told you I'd bring them with me. Here you go.'

Youichi wasn't able to look up anymore. His head laid heavy between his shoulders, his chin nearly touched his lean chest which was lifting and lowering in short intervals.

_Fuck_. The situation got worse and worse with every second passing. His thoughts rushed, searching desperately for a chance to escape that freaking position and to get the upper hand. But his fucked up body didn't listen to the orders his brain screamed.  
And the ache in his shoulder worsened alike.  
With another gasp, Hiruma grimaced with pain.

A low sound. With his teeth pressed together so his father wouldn't have the privilege to see all of his endeavours of getting a hold of himself, he caught some pieces of paper lying on the school's dusty ground in front of his knees.  
The letters. _Her _letters. Another noise and Hiruma Yuuya squatted to be on a level with his son's eyes.

'You were right, you know', he said, his voice sounding sadly in doing so.  
'When you told me I was the one not letting go of the past. I think you're still right. Though you must be aware that it's not that easy to accomplish. Neither for me nor you, Youichi.'

Hiruma's vision blurred and he felt how the blood loss brought him to lose consciousness. Under normal circumstances, a bullet that didn't even hit a fatal point wouldn't have stopped him that fast. He would have been able to go to the hospital after wearing the gutless bastard down and would have also been in the condition to blackmail both the nurses and doctors in order to keep them quiet and hurry up with his treatment.

But in this case – he wasn't sure himself what had let him hesitate when he had had the chance to shoot. Maybe he really wasn't a murderer although countless people definitely didn't put it past him.

When the usually tall and self-conscious youngster collapsed, he had already lost nearly two litres of blood. Thanks to the special bullet which normally was used by professionals to prevent their victims' wounds from closing by dint of some sort of toxin.

Just before everything in his mind went black – for his eyes had already given up on leaving open – he heard a voice reciting the poem his mother wrote in her farewell letter. At least, he thought he'd hear it. Perhaps it was only his dickey mind making him believe it, due to his by now low blood pressure. Perhaps he was just about to go crazy.

_And Love said No  
__And I begged  
__Begged for so long to let me go  
__But Love said No_

_And all I ever said  
__And all I was ever  
__Longing for  
__Suddenly slapped me in the face  
__Screaming me down  
__For every time I denied  
__The ones I did not love  
__The Love they'd have deserved_

_And Love said No  
__And I begged  
__Begged for so long to let me go  
__But Love said No  
__  
__Because there's no  
__Forgiveness anymore  
__For those who abandoned  
__Abandoned strangers  
__Who could've been so much more  
__Than only ballast for my soul_

_I did not love  
__Neither did you  
__It seems to fit if you let go  
__Just let me go  
__For Love said No_


	11. Unconscious

at 'Bishieluver01': Here you go. But hold your horses - I assure you - Hiruma Youichi is a tenacious one...  
at 'blackrogue4' and 'Grimmuli': It makes me very glad if you think Hiruma's in character. I'm trying my best to understand him - well, at least as far as he lets me. ;)

Thanks again for every single review - they are very supporting if oneself, as the writer, gets to know that the story is liked by someone.

* * *

_Silence._

_Wonderful silence._

_Comfortable silence._

_Embracing, protecting, lulling him._

_Silence meant darkness. Vacantness full of nothing, full of ebony, full of – tranquility._

_No sorrow, no fear._

_Neither wrath nor pain._

_Not even real thoughts. Everything on his mind just flowed slowly and quiet like a halcyon river._

_Silent._

_..._

* * *

A terrible headache let Hiruma wince and quietly groan as he opened his eyes anything but effortless. Immediately he regretted it and tried to touch his forehead for he felt cold sweat on it. But he couldn't move. Irritated and cautious the blonde took his surroundings – well, at least as much as he was able to gain with his gaze in this rather uncomfortable position. He wasn't outside anymore, instead laid down into some building with a stone ceiling and a high window to his left. His limbs were somehow tied together but he was lying on a bed, his head on a pillow so he wouldn't get a stiff neck in addition.

One bullet into his shoulder definitely was enough of a bother, Youichi thought cynically.

A pulsative pain in his left shoulder reminded him kindly of the wound he'd gotten thanks to his dear biological genitor. Now he also felt the white bandages wrapped around his upper part of the body.

_Che_, the 17-year old thought snidely. _So I was good enough for shooting at but he hasn't got the guts to let me die. How affectionate. I'm moved to tears, really._

With his teeth clenched together, he tried to get rid of the firm bonds holding him down. It was never exceptional for the student to carry a clasp knife in his pocket although he preferred fire arms without doubt. Better prepared than later complaining. But after a few seconds whilst his long, delicate fingers had stretched for the place he usually kept the knife, he had to realise it was gone. Well, he had expected that much, nonetheless it didn't enhance his chances of leaving this wheresoever located gaol.  
Anyway, all he had to do now was making up a new plan. Which, unfortunately, turned out to be not as easy as assumed; the dulcet silence of his unconsciousness had vanished together with his awakening, furthermore Youichi's head was spinning when he tried to catch an idea he recognised as possibly helpful. Unable to grasp a definite thought, the injured guy let his head drop back onto the pillow and took a deep breath. He had to calm down, had to make sure his brain worked as fast and precisely as he was used to it.

Hiruma flinched at the suddenly increasing pain in his shoulder and felt dizzy. He turned his head and for a split-second his pupils constricted before widening in both unbelief and fury. Due to his fuzzy mind and unfocused thoughts he hadn't been aware that someone had entered the room but now this person stood left to his _bed_ and stared at him in slight amusement. The usual sadness wasn't gone though.

'Youichi.'

Hiruma Yuuya's voice seemed to echo in the youngster's head and from one moment to the other pictures flashed past his inner eye. Memories of how his father shot at him, how he laughed, how he draw nearer, one step after another. Memories of the sadness in his voice, his eyes. And also of the cold, the deadness.

How it didn't bother him to tell his son straight in the face that he wished for his death. But not letting him pass away by treating his son's wound. And giving him tranquilliser.

Hiruma couldn't, didn't want to believe that this man dared to appear in front of him as if nothing had happened.

He hated him. He detested him. He pitied him in some way but there was not a single chance he'd let this shithead destroy everything he himself had built up all on his own! He wouldn't surrender without a struggle. If he died, this fucking stranger would be dragged along. Right down to hell, why not.  
And this was very important - there was no way, he'd show how supplied he felt.  
Even with all the drugs in him, Hiruma knew at least that much.

After not getting any response, his father spoke again and whilst doing so he produced something out of his trouser pockets which couldn't be seen by Youichi. Apparently fascinated by it, he didn't look at Youichi but examined the small thing his fingers hid.

'You've done quiet a ruckus, even after you fell down. Do you remember? You even tried to kick me although all I did was trying to get you to a safer place in order to coddle you up.'

_Right_, the quarterback thought and nearly began to cackle. It came to his mind that it wouldn't do any damage if he told his counterpart – well, the man he saw when he turned his gaze to the left for he wasn't able to sit up – what he thought. So he chimed in, sarcastically and as keen as his current situation let him to:

'Alright, old freak. I hope I hit you where it hurts 'cause it's fucking uncomfortable in this position and I'd really like to destroy something. Anyway, don't tell me you've brought me here for treating me like a kid, hoping for my hopefully new-awaken love towards your caring, apprehensive person. You can't be that stupid, can you?  
Just for remembering – kidnapping doesn't do your CV any good. It only helps you in finding your way into the more or less friendly arms of police officers. But right now I'm really unnerved and that again doesn't do your early health any good.'  
So, want to make an old-fashioned trade? My oh-so-dear life for something valuable? Money rules the world, we both know that.'

His father looked out of the window for a moment. It seemed to be dawn for the sky was still dark and only a few stripes of clouds who were illuminated by the first sunraies gleamed like pale strokes of brushes. Hiruma ignored the recurring and this time even increasing headache which had been disappearing in the last minutes but now didn't give the impression of leaving again.  
Obviously, the tranquilliser's effect reduced for he felt his breath starting to get a little heavier by and by.

'You're far too materialistic, Youichi', the adult said and smiled.

'You forgot selfish', the one spoken to added grinning viciously and stubbornly ignoring his aching body. At least, talking helped him concentrating on rearranging his chaoticly whirring thoughts.

'As well as evil, audacious, malicious and dangerous to public safety. Ah, and I've got a soft spot for fire arms.'

A sigh and the man turned around to the bed with its tied up captive.

'You're in pain, I know that. Of course, it's not really an appropriate place for you to be at the moment. You should go to school, learn something, chat with fellows and nice girls... Well, I assume, it comes as the case may be. But you aren't a little brat anymore, I think we should be able to handle this situation quiet well.  
I'm not after your life after all. You see, I had a hard time myself and don't want you to go through the same. I think it's time for us to get to know each other. Even if I can't be your dad anymore, why not start as friends? Doesn't everybody deserve a second chance in life, Youichi?'

Pleading eyes. Fingers around a small ampoule with a clear liquid in it.

'Sure', the slender seventeen year old replied sarky, casually. But his eyes were narrowed and the sweat meantime running down his forehead and temples.  
Damn it, he couldn't even scratch his fucking nose with these shitty laces around his wrists and ankles! And his head was spinning faster than ever, red and black dots appeared in front of his eyes which he elided stubbornly.

'So, to sum up, you want to deepen your verbatim already bloody relationship to me and in exchange - '

But a wheeze cut Hiruma off and as he suddenly was convulsed with pain, his father realised the bandages around the youngster's chest and shoulder - blood-soaked.  
With a few steps Hiruma Yuuya stood beside him, fumbled for a moment with the ampoule and in the next he held a filled injection between his fingers.  
Fresh red proved that the wound had reopened and Youichi's symptoms indicated his state of shock which didn't seem to interest him but nevertheless influenced his body notedly.

I'm no fucking guinea pig, so get lost with that crappy injection!, the blonde wanted to shout. Yet again, _wanted to_ but in reality no words left his lips for his body still was seriously trying to fight the external remains of the toxic bullet. There was no room for – impartially seen – unnecessary movements or words. And his shock – if he was willing to admit it or not – did the rest.

'You've got to hold still, it won't hurt at all. And you need to recover soon, Youichi.'

_Sure_, the beat-down guy answered soundlessly. _After all, I'll have to make up for your lovely treatment... and... especially for this shitty needle... Oh, I hate this fucked up situation. Get to get up as soon as possible... as soon..._

The newly injected tranquilliser worked fast and effectively. Within seconds Hiruma's breath had calmed down and become more regularly. His eyes were closed when his father stepped back from the bed and watched him being unconscious. The quarterback's facial expression was still tense but the pain was not to be seen anymore.

'Just watch yourself', Yuuya said quietly, the empty syringe yet in his hand.

'The only moments one could mistake you for an estimable son are those when you are sleeping, aren't they? It's a pity. We'll have to change, both of us, in order to assure you a worthy future.  
... and why not me as well?'

* * *

_Silence._

_Again._

_However, he welcomed it._


	12. Anxious

The spreading silence was disturbing. They had all gathered at the clubhouse, in their backs other students were enjoying the break, ate their lunch, chatted and laughed or were already leaving school's ground for their schedule wasn't as long today as else. It was the usual noise of a schoolyard. But for the Amefuto club something very important was missing.  
Musashi as well as Kurita, Mamori, Sena, Monta, Komusubi, Ishimaru, the Huh-Huh-Brothers and Taki sat silently on a few benches and were awaiting their own personal noise.  
But nothing happened. No gunfire, no shouts, no orders, no curses, not even insults that could have announced the arrival of their devilish quarterback and captain.  
And surprisingly, the whole team felt uncomfortable in this silence. Although merely five minutes had passed since the break had started. Anyway, that was enough to create a nervousness among the players which they didn't really understand at first. But bit by bit every single one of them realised they were used to the riot Hiruma Youichi made up in order to improve their skills in the daily training. It gave them a feeling of – well – odd reliability.

The kicker and the team's manager sat together on one of the benches and the girl was the first to ask something without anyone else hearing it:

'Musashi-kun, Hiruma-kun didn't come to class today. I haven't seen him around for two days due to me being absent of club activities yesterday. But it's more than unusual for Hiruma-kun to be late to practise. Rather, it didn't happen once until today! What's the matter?'

But the mature looking high schooler and workman shook his head and in his eyes Anezaki could see a glimpse of concern.

'I'd like to know myself', he replied in the same low sound.

'Of course, there's the possibility that he's pursuing one of his fishy businesses but he'd have contacted at least one of us. And it's not like him to skip training sessions just for fun...'

'Maybe he's just sick?', the brunette girl asked with both slight hope and solicitude.

'I doubt that', Musashi said bluntly.

'Kurita and I have known Hiruma for nearly four years and there was not one time I saw him being sick or the like. He's never been bedridden for once and even if he should have caught a cold, it must have passed off faster than by any average human. Additionally, he would have never told anyone if he hadn't felt well. Nope, I really doubt there's the chance of a decease being the reason for his absence.'

'Hmm... But shouldn't someone look for him at home? Perhaps it's not sickness but an accident at home and he is unconscious and can't contact anyone. Or there appeared to be a very important appointment he's forgotten.  
... oh, well, I suppose there's no such thing. As if he'd ever forget anything.'

Mamori's gaze went gloomy as she remembered the few but nevertheless enough situations Hiruma had caught her being not quite the discipline officer one always expected her to be, and she turned to Musashi.  
Suddenly the muscular Amefuto player stood up. With stern eyes his gaze laid upon the other team members and as he spoke everybody was listening for he could be an impressive character if he set out to.

'Oi, enough of loitering! Let's get to work already. Twenty labs for the beginning and afterwards stretching. In full uniform!'

A hand was raised and Kobayakawa Sena stated the question that lingered in everyone's head but nobody else in this moment dared to ask aloud.

'Ehm, Musashi-san – where is Hiruma? Shouldn't we wait for him?'

'Yeah, why would we start training without our captain?!', Monta shouted supporting.

'He'll kick our arses if we do anything wrong because he's not here to watch and check us!'

Musashi had to smile slightly but remained serious nontheless.  
'Oh, sure you can wait for him. But I, for myself, don't want to see you getting tied into knots when he finds out that you've done nothing but relaxing although ten minutes of our training time have yet passed.'

He shrugged casually but it worked. In a few seconds every player was running their labs, desperately trying to evade the bad temper of the anytime returning personal devil of Deimon High. Without anyone paying much attention to it, the kicker stayed back with Mamori who looked after the others for a moment before speaking again.

'What do we do now? There MUST be something wrong, Musashi-kun. We haven't got that many classes today, so there's just practise left and it doesn't bother the teachers if he's absent. Which isn't much of surprise. However - '

'It's okay, Anezaki', said student tried to calm her down and broke out a phone.  
'Although it might cost my head later. He hates to be disturbed if not necessary. Usually, he always answers his phones so there is a high possibility that we'll reach him, wherever he might be at the moment.'

Within a few seconds he'd typed a number, held the phone to his ear and waited. With tensed facial features and lightly frowning the brunette girl exercised herself in patience, the tooting noise of the call lowly resounding into the space between her and Musashi.

* * *

'Wake up, Youichi. It's already afternoon. Wake up, will you?'

With hooded eyes Hiruma regained consciousness. His father was staring down at him, half bent over his upper part of the body and with a gaze the guy couldn't read at once.  
He frowned. He was starving, his mouth was totally dried out and felt as if his partly tingly, partly numb left arm would drop off every moment. Experimentally, he tried to move his fingers. It worked although not as good as he wanted it.

Yuuya withdraw from him and turned around to grap a tablet with some food and a glass of water.  
'You've slept quite long, don't you think?', he asked his son and smiled tenderly.  
'Okay, like you've already noticed it's thanks to some medicine I gave you. But most of the pain should be gone, too. It pays to have worked part-time in a hospital.  
...You really should drink something, Youichi, otherwise you won't be able to get well soon.'

But the blonde didn't open his lips as the adult held the filled glass up to them so he could take a sip.

'My, my... What's that, Youichi? Don't you now how to behave by now? What's the matter?', he asked considerately.

'Drink it yourself', Hiruma answered and grinned menacingly. Yes, even in this uncomfortable situation he managed to keep a part of his intimidating act. If it really was an act all the time though.  
'If you neither die nor fall asleep or the like, I might taste it. But you can as well just let me starve or die of thirst for I won't touch any of your fucking food with my limbs tied up as they are. Furthermore, I'll try my best to reek like the most dead body ever if I've passed away and eventually some dog together with its owner will find me. Look forward to your time after that, you won't get bored with all the trials, kekeke...'

Damned drugs! Normally, he'd already have sussed out the weak point in this whole kidnapping case or whatever it developed into. He'd already be threatening this fucking wrinkly! However, the effect wasn't as strong as the night before. One night... so he's been in this gaol for nearly twenty-four hours. Hmpf, wasn't the first time he didn't attend class. More important – he'd be absent of training. Somehow the fucking old man and the damned manager would have to get the rest of the team to practise. But he suspected exactly those two to wonder too much about his whereabout.  
Hiruma suppressed the impulse of trying to move a hand to his pocket. There were no gums he could distract himself with. Nor one of his phones.  
Shit, somehow he had to bring his abductor to relieve him from his bonds; then, everything else would be extremely easy. Nobody would be able to hold him here if he weren't dazed by drugs and tied up.  
What could he say that would persuade this bastard...

Hiruma Yuuya sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment. The next thing he made was placing the tablet aside on the blank ground and beginning to tamper with the laces around his son's wrists. Silently, Youichi followed his movements and mistrustful as well as surprised waited for the bonds to be gone.  
In the moment, he felt his wrists released from the edge of the bed, his right hand dashed forward and gripped the collar of his father's shirt. Whilst he sat up, he felt his own shirt glued to his back, the sweat had dried on the skin and for a second his head was spinning for he had lain such a long time. The left shoulder began to throb awkwardly again but the blonde haired guy ignored it.

'Let go, Youichi', Hiruma-san said in a docile way. He didn't try to resist, just knelt beside the bed, hands still on the edge.  
'It won't do you any good if you let yourself be carried away by anger. It's better to let go of what happened between us and concentrate on the future. Don't you want to feel at ease and be happy with what you have? You've managed to prove yourself on the stage of American Football. That's a really good thing you've done together with your friends and I'm proud of you. But eventually the time will come when you'll feel bound to the past and can't move forward. Just because you didn't let go of it.'

In the meantime, the quarterback had managed to open the remaining laces around his ankles with the help of his left hand which – fortunately - turned out to be not as useless as expected.  
Still, no resistance although it would have been difficult anyway for the adult to get away from the firm hold of the seventeen year old. They were both about the same height although the youngster left more of a mark than the other one.  
After Youichi had swung his legs over the edge, his glance got cold when he raised his voice and looked his father straight in the eyes.

'Finished with that lecture of yours? 'cause I'm not keen on staying another shitty night here. I have no reason to behave like the nice, boneheaded child you always wished for. Especially not after your crappy greeting yesterday. I don't intend to call for the police. More precisely, I don't need them for you're all but dead the next time you try something as stupid as this.  
Now, give me back my things and tell me exactly where we are, fucking wrinkly.'

Another sigh. They both stood up, Youichi slightly staggered the first moment; for a second his vision went black before clearing up again.

He wouldn't show it. He'd rather stop cursing than being weak in front of this man's eyes, in front of anybody's eyes.

And just when a swarm of birds flew out of a tree whose branches' tips could be seen outside the window, and Hiruma's father started to really argue about why he wasn't able to take the responsibility of handing him his bag, a phone rang from somewhere.


	13. Triumphant

I'm sorry that you had to wait this long for the new chapter but hope, of course, nonetheless that you enjoy it. :)

* * *

Yuuya paused, taken aback when the phone rang clearly through the quarrel he and his son just had had. But said son didn't hesitate a second but reacted immediately and trailed the adult at his collar with him whilst sourcing the impersonal ring tone. He didn't let his eyes stray away from his abductor as he bent down to grap for the phone which laid behind a cardboard box in the room's corner next to the closed door. His long fingers clenched around the different shirt as Hiruma felt the shakiness of his legs and dragged the man with him down onto the cold ground. Due to thegrand walls the temperature wasn't as high as one would have expected it to be during summer time.

Heavily panting, mouth closed, the student glared at his father, still awaiting some resistance. It bothered him that he didn't know where this man had stored all the weapons, including his own with those fucking toxic bullets. And he wasn't able to shake his counterpart down in oder to make sure he wouldn't be shot at anew for all strength left to him was used to hold his father down. And the pain in the left shoulder worsened every second.

'Won't you answer the call, Youichi?', Yuuya asked innocently.

'Shut the fuck up', Hiruma spit out. New sweat was runnng down his back as well as his temples.

'I won't interfere, you know', his father continued, trying to calm the youngster down whose breath got heavier as the tranquiliser once again reduced bit by bit.  
'I never had the intention of leaving you here forever. Just as long as it was necesarry to make you understand your situation and that you have to change your attitude. And your behaviour towards other people, for your own good. And, of course, until you would have gotten better.'

Hiruma ignored him and opened the phone, awaiting the voice of the caller, a voice, any voice. Any voice of any person would be liberating enough for him in this situation. A contact to his more or less normal world, _his own_ life. Something that forced him to concentrate on that voice, that contact. Which gave him the chance to focus his thoughts and to get out of his dazed state.

'Hiruma? It's me, Musashi.'

A small grin appeared in the corner of Youichi's mouth.

'I know who you are, fucking old man', he replied.  
'What gives me the honour of hearing your voice? Any death wishes yet?'

'Cut it out, Hiruma.What're you doing? Any excuses for the captain to not attend training?'  
In a lower voice the Devilbat's kicker added:  
'D'ya hold the wolf by the ears, or what? And don't ya dare trying to screw me. It'd be useless, anyway.'

'Che...'  
Hiruma's thoughts rushed as fast as they could in his current state of being which was – by the way – still faster than any other intelligent person's. But it couldn't be helped. Maybe Musashi...  
'Remember what I told you about a certain someone – you should be aware of? I've got some business with him. Hope, you got the fucking amoebas to practise - as hard-working as they should always be. Otherwise, you can run along with them - the next time with myself in your neck. I'm not going to spare you, kekeke...'

'... Alright. How long will it take? Got to tell those _amoebas _something, ya know that. They do worry – despite their acutal anxiety about what you'll do if you're not satisfied with their training.'

'You should all think the other way round from time to time. Probably would do your brains good. ... Tell them I'm blackmailing an important new victim - in order to get someone capable of watching them when I'm not around, if they really have to know. And for yourself – old man – don't get the idea of overstraining yourself now. Unfortunately, you're needed – for the team. Got that?'

'... yeah. See ya asap.'

'You can bet your life on it – although I wouldn't advise you to do so, Musashi.'

Hiruma ended the conversation and closed the phone. He'd understand. Musashi would understand. And it bothered him tremendously that he had to rely indirectly on someone else. Anyway, for now he had to take care of this wrinkly next to himself. The blonde turned around. Little stars twinkled in front of his eyes, the wounded shoulder had become numb and heavy again.

'You're one to talk.'

The not-so-fatherly person's gaze tried to fix Youichi's whilst the two of them were sitting side to side on the ground. And again, silence laid down.

'Telling your friend, he should...'

But Hiruma wasn't listening anymore. His mazy thoughts had picked something up. Something important, whispered his instinct. Indeed, it was thanks to his pointed ears that he'd picked up that rather interesting, not to say unusual, noise.

Whispering. That alone wasn't abnormal but it was a female voice and sounded quite familiar. Additionally, it didn't happen that often that a girl was whispering and addressing him directly for normally they sticked together in little crowds, annoyingly chatting, giggling and – beside those who were courageous enough to glance at him attracted – wincing scared when he walked by.  
But there was this noise again:

'...Oh, I hope he hears me... Hiruma-kun?'

A side glance. His father still talked but Youichi's whole concentration was focused on the low voice coming from the outside near the window. In one corner of the glass, light brown hair and a blue eye appeared, for a split-second looking surprised as well as careful before finding its way right into his own eyes.  
She was only a metre afar to Hiruma's side and fortunately Yuuya had positioned himself near to the closed door, sitting behind his son so he wasn't able to notice anything on the other side of the window.  
An idea came up in the blonde's mind without thinking; it just popped up in an instant as if it had just waited for the chance to be needed.  
Unseen by his father, he used his right hand to form figures he'd invented and taught the Deimon Devilbat's manager. Up until now, their sign language had worked pretty well against all of their opponents on the Football field.

Anezaki Mamori paused for a brief moment before she upheld both her own petite hands and answered in the same encoded way.

_Musashi watches the team.  
__What shall I do?_

_- Stay put for now. Got a phone?_

_Yes._

_- Then call the fire brigade._

_... Fire brigade?_

_- When I give you the sign, not earlier or I'll get nicked._

_Alright._

Hiruma turned his head in a small gesture back to get a look at his much too familiar kidnapper who had started to fumble with his jacket. The youngster breathed out soundlessly, slowly. His _plan,_ if one wanted to call it like that, was under way, even faster than he had expected. Musashi must have given the fucking manager the infos they'd exchanged in their short conversation on the phone. Well, the old man would pay for that someday somehow. Right now, he himself wasn't able to think of a proper punishment, anyway.

'Ah! Found it!', the triumphant voice of his father called out as said person suddenly laid his hand over Youichi's which still formed a fist around the shirt collar but had no mentionable feeling anymore. Hiruma winced back but couldn't get rid of the adult's fingers that now gripped his own.  
It was disgusting. He hated those hands.

'Do you know, what I found, Youichi?'

The one spoken to shrugged, frowned as he noticed the profound look in Hiruma Yuuya's eyes and exhaled sharply through his acute teeth when his father took hold firmly.

_Just wait_, he told himself. _It doesn't make any difference if it's three or five or even sixty crappy minutes as long as it all goes according to the plan. The fucking manager will handle it. In the end, she always does what has the greatest value for the current situation.  
__Just wait.  
__Be patient.  
__Brace yourself._

'I found', his father continued and looked at him in both amusement and strange waywardness, 'this nice, tiny explosive.'  
With his free hand he presented the dangerous material in form of a dynamite pole.  
'Nothing one should play around with, Youichi.'

'Don't fucking call me – like that', Hiruma panted. His face was pale with pains, the sweat glittered on his arms and his t-shirt soaked anew.

Oh, no. He wouldn't give that damn wrinkly the pleasure of presenting his goddamn _end of the father-son conversation_! And so he interrupted the man the next moment he felt enough air in his lungs:

'Let me guess – I was such a bad boy, you haven't got another chance - in order to make up for it - as to blow me up.'

He now panted for air constantly; nonetheless, Hiruma smirked his vicious grin. And as his father slapped him in the face, he finally gave Mamori the sign.


	14. Cunning

It wasn't impressive.

Not at all.

Mamori had waited for Hiruma's sign, the fire brigade's number yet dialed, and just needed to push one more button to fulfill her current duty and set the captured guy's plan in motion.

Anyway, there she knelt: In front of her, the window's glass through which she could see Hiruma and an adult, unknown to her; she'd never seen him before. Behind her, bushes and a few trees, then the street and other houses. Most of them had been villas and some time ago must have given a beautiful image of classy liking. By now, they were ruinous, the fronts had lost their colour, high windows were broken, door frames blacked and the doors themselves nailed up with shelves. The houses were derelict.

It had surprised the Devilbats' manager as she'd entered this quarter to find out such a neighbourhood existed in their town although it was really small, existed next to themselves without any student or child telling ghost stories and tests of courage or the like about it.

She wondered how Musashi had figured out where Hiruma was. Back then on school's ground, when the guys had phoned, it had sounded like a normal conversation although at one point in between, the reliable kicker had lowered his voice. But Anzeaki herself was considerate enough not to eavesdrop so she'd turned around and watched the team running their labs and stretching afterwards. Strangely enough, Musashi had already scribbled her a note where she would find the blonde troublemaker whilst having his phone talk. She assumed he had to have a GPS in his own mobile and hadn't asked. Not really knowing what was going on, she had clenched her fist around the little piece of paper whilst running down the streets and then turning into a narrow alley through which she had been able to enter the sought-after avenue...

The brunette girl heard how someone picked up her call. Fast she explained that there was black smoke emerging one of the old buildings and told the fireman her location, before said one ensured her that a squad would be there in about ten minutes. Frowning, she laid her phone down on her knees and biting on her lip, she forced herself to look at what was happening inside the villa Musashi had sent her. With a soundless gasp she watched how the adult man grabbed Hiruma at his shirt's collar which seemed strangely dark, and heard him shouting something about the meaning of family.

_Family_? Could it be that this man was none other than Hiruma-kun's father?, Anezaki asked herself. Maybe at least some relative?

Doubts and reality fought in her head whilst she noticed that her classmate moved somehow oddly; he seemed to avoid movements with his left arm – or better – with his left side of the upper part of his body. He couldn't be seriously wounded, could he? But it was already hard to spot the two people inside the villa for the shadows of the high walls casted clouds over them and the sun falling in through the window only reached Hiruma's right hand as he supported himself on the ground.

Musashi, Anezaki thought sorrowfully. What am I supposed to do right now? Just wait for the fire brigade to come? Will they divide the two? How can I help myself and should I do that at all? It's, without doubt, sure that Hiruma-kun has a plan and most surely a back-up plan, as well. But how did he think I would react? How did he predict this whole thing to work out? And what exactly is going on here, anyway? Also, Hiruma-kun never called for any help at all until now, so either Musashi sent me on his own because he was founded worried about him, or Hiruma-kun does have an issue with this man that he knows he can't handle on his own. Come to think of it, he seemed to look surprised for a split-second when he noticed me here at the window.

... In any case, none of these two possibilities is to my liking though...

* * *

'Musashi-san.'

_At the mobile, he was panting_, Musashi thought.  
_Ever in between, he had to make little pauses in order to breath regularly... I wonder if it was okay and sufficient to send Anezaki to him. She's smart and gets along pretty well with Hiruma so normally it should be okay... But what if he really caught a Tartar with some guys, maybe Anezaki would just be in the way... No, she's the first to understand his crazy tactics and strategies. She'll help him handle the situtation like she always supports him in her own way.  
__Also, Hiruma would barely talk to me like he actually did whilst our conversation. He expected me to react and should have thought of the possibility that I'd send someone discreet of the team._

'Musashi-san!'

The one spoken to turned around, just to face the whole team staring at him.

'Hm?', he grumbled in his friendly way.

'You know, we've made sure to practise the way Monsieur Hiruma told us', the cheerful Taki rose to speak, 'but half an hour has passed yet and we thought now, whilst our dear captain pursues his – eh – _business_, we could talk to Monsieur Musashi a bit about-'

'Yeah! About something MAX important!!', shouted Monta and grinned all over his face as he jumped up and down in excitement.

'Of course, only if it's okay with you', Sena said hesitantly, 'for at the moment you hold the captain's position. So, if you don't mind...'

The Deimon Devilbat's kicker gazed at his team members and suddenly asked Yukimitsu Manabu what all that stumbling was about.  
In an instant the tall guy who attended the same grade as Anezaki and said devilish captain changed into his information mood – which was tremendously helpful because everything he had his intelligent and careful eyes on was recorded and always exactly and informational given an account of.

'Musashi-san, the team doesn't know Hiruma-san's birthday - nor really wants to try getting to know it - but nonetheless we thought we'd arrange a party for you three: Musashi-san, Kurita-san and Hiruma-san. For the founders of the Deimon Devilbats! It is planned to take place next Sunday and we wanted to make sure you're okay with both the date and the party itself for we would have to skip one single training session which should have been on Saturday, in order to arrange everything.  
The incidental expenses will be taken over by the rest of the team and we've already planned on something concerning a most likely use of weapons by Hiruma-san, so there shouldn't be any problems with the host's rooms neither.'

For a moment, Takekura _Musashi_ Gen forgot about the troubles that were happening in this very moment and was positively stunned. Not stunned but rather moved to tears was the Center of the team, Kurita Ryouka, who broke into tears of joy and embraced the poor guys who were standing next to him. Gasping for air and cursing like hell, the _Three Brothers_ tried to get out of Kurita's bone-breaking grip.

* * *

'Think twice about your - crappy kidnapping-and-schooling plan, fucking wrinkly!'

Panting, Hiruma succeeded in hitting his father's hand aside as said one again wanted to grab him. Gritting his teeth together and inwardly fighting against the upcoming pain of his worn out, slender body, he felt at the same time that together with the drugs, the dizziness of his head vanished.

_Good thing_, he thought. _The boot is going to be on the other foot._

And then, pulling almost all strength left to him together, the blonde dashed his long right arm forward and yanked something out of his father's jacket.  
Hiruma Yuuya was unable to hide his surprise and shock as his son pointed the gun he himself had shot the youngster with at him.

'You can barely hold this weapon', the adult tried to convince the pale student whilst he slowly raised his hands alongside his head.  
'Although you're still much too cheeky and antisocial, I am willing to look over that kind of thing and give you a second chance. It's not like I'm unfair – you see, the most important thing is the aim one is working towards. It stands above everything and sometimes one has to make concessions. This -', Yuuya rocked the dynamite in his uplifted hand, '- this was just to show you of how much importance our relationship is to me, Youichi.'

The misty wall over his mind disappeared and Hiruma felt how his concentration was coming back. His thoughts were focused – finally really focused again – on the man in front of him and thanks to his now clear mind, he could gain more control over his body, too. His right arm was outstretched and aimed with the pistol at Yuuya's chest as he forced his muscles to straighten him up. Now he was standing on his two feet again and suppressed a tremble.  
Of course, it was a bluff. He knew well enough he would hardly make it farther than the open street whose name he didn't know, but perhaps even that was sufficient to finish this whole damned conflict if everything went according to his plan.

'Tche', the quarterback hissed with a dry throat. His knuckles went white, that hard did he hold the black, metallic fire arm.  
'Stop talking nonsense. I don't give a fuck about a screwed up _relationship_ to you like you call it. You're just sick. Open the door. If you intend to - change your mind about that _nice, tiny explosive_ – you won't have the time to detonate it. Now, do your job – I won't repeat myself a - third time without letting you feel how annoyed I am. And if somebody out on the street asks you what - that pole in your hand is – just blow the witness up and everything's fine, isn't it? Kekeke...'

Slowly, the adult man took a few steps backwards before turning around and fetching a key out of his jacket's downs, not losing sight of the blonde youngster whose four piercings jingled gently on his pointed ears when he followed him with careful steps.

With a click the door went open and mumbling and looking sad or rather frustrated again,Yuuya stepped outside.  
Hiruma could scent the smell of the outdoor and as if to annoy him just for the fun of it, a bird above him started to chirp something that probably should be some kind of melody when he set foot out on the doorway and followed his father precautiously.

Further above – the clear, blue, vast sky. The first moment, Youichi was dazzled by the daylight and overwhelmed by the fresh air although it hadn't been more than twenty-six hours he had spent in the supervision of that fucking wrinkly.  
And then, several things happened at the same time:

The first was the approaching siren of the fire brigade whose fire engine after a few seconds drove around the next corner and halted right in front of a stunned Hiruma Yuuya.  
The second was a brunette high school girl who came running from the other side of the villa and towards Youichi, shouting something with worry written on her face.  
And last but not least – the blonde captain of the Deimon Devilbats, who had let disappear the fire arm somewhere, started to smirk his characteristic grin. Which had never, at no time, meant anything good for his opponents.


	15. Reminding

I'm sorry you had to wait this long again. I'm still very happy about every review and hope you'll follow this story to the end. Which, by the way, isn't _that_ far away anymore. But don't worry - there's still the past left to be told and I won't let Hiruma stay at hospital forever, so please enjoy the next chapters that will hopefully follow soon! :-)

* * *

He was lying on his bed, arms crossed under his head and staring up to the ceiling of his room. His very own apartement room. The cold yet tender moonlight fell through the open window which also gave way to a light breeze that carried the scent of a mild night into the air. His chest lifted and lowered very calmly whilst his gaze rested somewhere in the nowhere. And as Hiruma finally closed his lids, beside the calming silence, the trustful loneliness he had yearned for far too long, still pictures flashed through his mind, remembering him of the things that had happened in the last days...

* * *

With practised movements, the medics or whatever the white clad men were called supplied a stretcher so Youichi could lie down and they'd be able to examine him properly. For they had already seen that something with his bearing was wrong. Hiruma did about half of what they told him; he sat down on the stretcher but refused to be carried into the fire engine. When one of the fire men wanted to ask him out about what had happened and where the fire should be, the blonde talked for a few seconds with him, but low enough that nobody else could overhear the content. The fire man went a little pale, looked into Hiruma's wide, demonic grin and then ordered his comrades back. Though none of them had found a source of fire yet at all.

'Hiruma-kun!'

A fire man held Anezaki back and asked for her name which she replied hastily before turning back to her classmate. Moving her hands fast and trained, the brunette girl formed signs which was a much faster and private way of exchanging information only concerning both her and him.

_Shall I contact Musashi-kun?_

The blonde slightly shook his head without averting his eyes of the Amefuto manager who finally had been let loose by the fire man and stepped to his side.

'How are you?', Mamori managed to ask, her blue eyes showing anxiety although she did her best to sound as collected and confident as always whilst her fingers gripped her skirt a little too firm.

'Tche, couldn't be better', Hiruma grinned sarcastically as an answer. And when he inconspicuously formed a soundless reply with his right hand, Mamori sighed quietly.

She'd known such an answer had to come. Nevertheless... he didn't look better close-by either.

_Just wait and take a good look on how things should turn out more often. _

Clueless, Mamori resisted the urge to treat the quarterback herself and did how she was told.

* * *

There hadn't been any chance of another outcome. Because Yuuya was predictable. Most of his childhood time if one wanted to call it like that, Youichi had thought of his father as an unpredictable, even dangerous and intimidating person who would never acknowledge him as somebody worthy looking at. But as the years had passed, he had come to realise that it was just the other way round. Looking back, his genitor was predictable in almost every situation. Like almost every person. Of course, the exception proves the rule. And sometimes annoying people changed and got even more annoying. Proof was that Hiruma had never thought of his father getting his cursed hands on fire arms. But in the end, he was just an average, even though sick, human. And therefore predictable. Which in turn could be an advantage for himself.

When he had mentioned the dynamite in conjunction with an uninvolved person and possible witness, the adult had been forced to think about the next upcoming step and how to handle the situation newly. How to arrange the circumstances if really such a case were to occur. And in the end, there only existed two possible solutions:

The first was just as easy as simple-minded. Throwing the damned dynamite away and hoping it would be found soonest after the abridgement of the old villa.  
The second was to keep it at a place where people, maybe even the Police, wouldn't expect it to be. Usually, one tended to suppose that the weapon used in a crime would be hidden by the culprit at a place farthest away and without any connection to him. In this case, Yuuya didn't want to believe that anybody actually would frisk him. _Him_ who had just left a supposedly burning house, _him_ who just as well might be under shock because of whatever had happened, and with his poor son, hurt by some strange robber. No, he didn't want to believe that.  
By the way – who did call the fire brigade? And – why? He didn't see any flames close-by nor was there a fire in the villa where he had hidden himself and Youichi. He had to know for they both had been the only people staying inside the old building since yesterday.

There hadn't been any chance of another outcome.

The fire man Hiruma had spoken to inconspicuously had also called the police. Not because he'd seen any culprit, an actual crime or someone looking suspicious and dangerous. No, just because – and that was reason enough for him to do it, considering all the private details this scheming high schooler knew about him – Hiruma had told him so.

Only five minutes later, when some of the first aiders were just about to tell Hiruma Yuuya about the future treatment of his son in hospital, the constabulary arrived.  
Just like the fire men before, with practised moves they surrounded the adult, guns pointed at him and two of the men approaching carefully, telling him to raise his hands slowly over his head. Without wasting any time, they handcuffed Yuuya and seconds later contentedly found the explosive inside of his wide jacket which was locked in a plastic bag as an evidence for intended assault.

'If you still want to tell your son something, then now's the time', one of the officers who conducted the puzzled, disappointed, sad but above all sick man towards the police car, asked earnestly.  
The one spoken to looked at the blonde youngster sitting on the stretcher. First aiders were relieving him of the blood-soaked bandages, giving him provisional new ones whilst urging him to lie down and take the medicine. And his gaze met directly with his father's.

He could see him into the eyes.  
He wouldn't withdraw nor would he lower his stare.  
He wouldn't show any signs of weakness.  
And he wouldn't last long with that charade; but that didn't matter.  
The main issue was to keep the face of someone who had won the game. And, in fact, he had done so. He'd won. And that was all that mattered for the moment.

'Youichi – you yourself know best what you did', Yuuya suddenly said.  
'What you've done. I told you to get over it. In the past I told you other things and by now -'

The moment Youichi's father spoke the last words aloud, his smile was disappointed and cruel. And a little content.

'By now, I think you proved them all right._ I_ was right. All the time, and you'd've developed into a decent person if you'd followed me. But there's no way, no way that you could ever get rid of your blame! You understand me, don't you, Youichi? You can't win. You never could.'

The officers slammed the car door, got in as well, nodded shortly to the fire men who were ready to leave, too, and drove away towards their station somewhere in the city. Somewhere away. ... Hopefully very far away.

Meanwhile, the sun had wandered the sky and it was late afternoon.

'How are you feeling, Hiruma-kun?'

Anezaki Mamori had also entered the fire engine, together with the first aiders. Now they were heading for the next hospital.

'Well, how exactly do you expect me to feel, damned manager?', asked the blonde guy with an eyebrow cynically lifted up.

'Well, what do you expect me to tell Musashi-kun?', countered the brunette girl and was happy that their trigger-happy, vicious captain still had his biting sarcasm left to him.

'Nah, tell him whatever - you want. But remember – you live and die with the fucking consequences, so think well about it - damned manager.'

Hiruma wanted to cackle but anew his shoulder ached in pain and seized the air out of his lungs. So he just grit his sharp teeth together and laid quietly, trying not to breathe that heavily.  
It was dreadful. He wanted to do something, wanted to pull the trigger of his bazooka, wanted to concentrate on his fucking chewing gum or – which would be the best – wanted to concentrate on nothing. On the silence. Not the pain, not the sometimes annoying presence of his caring manager – only silence.  
Anyway, there obviously wouldn't be any silence until every person he'd meet in the next hours had examined him to their full content.

...

And with thoughts like that, Hiruma drifted off, thanks to the infusion the first aiders had to give him.

He would dream. And it wasn't clear yet if it would be a nightmare of the past or the passed way of struggling for freedom.


	16. Choked

Youichi dreamed. Of the past. Of things he couldn't change, anyway. And deep down he felt as if he was captured once again in a world of insanity and incomprehension, full of rejection and choked rage and loneliness.

_He knew she didn't really love him. He knew it all along. Nevertheless, he also did recognise her in some rare moments trying to pretend that she cared for him at least a little. In the beginning, as long as he'd been in the first years of elementary school, that had been enough. He'd looked forward to every possible chance she might've used to show him some attentiveness. To recognise him.  
Anyway, as soon as Youichi got old enough to develop his cunning sense of what people said was true or not and how to interpret their reactions, their behaviour, he painfully had to realise how false everything around him at home was.  
Serious quarrels, obscenities, strokes, disregard and ignorance of his very existence. All that was false and nevertheless painfully real._

_Sometimes the boy came home from school and neither his father nor his mother were there. No food was made, no notice of where they'd headed, nothing. Then he would just sit in that empty house, at the deserted table and he'd wait. Wait for someone to come home and say something like 'I'm home, Youichi. How have you been at school?'  
In most cases he had to wait until late in the evening, most times he eventually left and strayed around outdoors, but even if one of his parents came, there was neither a greeting nor a small gesture that could have helped him get over the missing words.  
Soon, Youichi had seen that other parents of other children behaved in a totally different way:  
Some of them brought their children to elementary or even Middle School; a mother or father would embrace their kid before giving them a kiss on the cheek or even a small one on the mouth; they would fondle their head and hair; raise one hand to say goodbye whilst leaving school's ground in order to do the work parents did. And they would smile. So gently._

_Hiruma's feelings at that time were very contradictory:  
On the one hand, something inside of him – whatever it was, he wasn't mature enough back then to realise what exactly it was – got warm and somehow wanted to run to those parents, let them embrace him and huddle against them.  
Later, when he'd grown up already much more than his peers, he knew about the exact biological reasons that had caused him to feel that way. It was just a trivial natural instinct of children to long for touches and attentiveness and all the crap.  
On the other hand, the boy felt hurt – he asked himself questions he didn't want to spend notice to for they pierced through him all the more.  
Why didn't his parents embrace him? Why didn't they say such lovely words to him? Why didn't they recognise him, didn't look at him like those parents did? How came nearly everyone beside himself was deserving the kindness and attentiveness of their parents? What did they do right that he failed? Was he really that different as to have the right to ask for a similar kind of feeling?_

_All these thoughts and questions hurt and the more they hurt him, the more angry did the boy become. Sometimes he wished all those oh-so-happy and lucky people to hell. Angry and at the same time solitary. That way he didn't have to see all the satisfied faces, all the fond gestures around him and wouldn't be asked troublesome questions he wouldn't want to or couldn't answer._

* * *

_A slap in the face.  
Furious eyes and lips pressed together to a hard, white line._

_'What did you say, Youichi?!'_

_The black-haired boy didn't respond at first. The big hand that held him tight at his shirt's collar pulled him nearer to his father's face who repeated the question._

_'What did you say, Youichi? Tell me. Tell your father once more, will you?'_

_Youichi looked away before turning his head and concentrate on the man in front of him. His small hands formed fists as he tried both to answer correctly and to supress a trembling._

_'The bills are wrong. You made a little mistake at the end of your calculation so that you'd pay more than you need if you don't change it. That's all I wanted to say.'_

_'... you little cheeky brat – how would you know?! You're just a little nag that feels the need to be arrogant because it doesn't have anyone else to brag in front, don't you?!  
Cut the crap and go to your room. I bet you have lots of homework to do for school and don't you dare slacking off! Get you gone!'_

_Hiruma Yuuya let go of his son and shook his head unnerved as he sat down again on a chair in the kitchen, took a sip of his beer and then opened the newspapers, not showing the slightest attention to the bill papers lying under his filled glass.  
Quietly, Youichi looked at his back. It seemed so big and like a wall he could never overcome.  
He turned around and headed upstairs for his room.  
Alright, he thought disappointed when he closed the door behind himself and faced the open window over his bed. Alright, he'd only wanted to help his father. For something, anything his brains had to be good for! There had to be something he could do in order to gain his parents' acceptation! ... well, but this try obviously was a failure.  
Youichi, still leaning with his back at the wooden door, stared out of the window into the sky that, bit by bit, turned reddish for it was by now already evening. And together with the disappointment a feeling of worthlessness, loneliness and pointlessness in all his doing, all his trying welled up inside of him and a tear ran down his cheeks.  
Fast, he whipped it away, throbbed once and then let himself fall onto his bed, eyes closed._

_Thoughts rushed past his eyelids and eventually he had to grind his teeth together to avert really breaking into tears. It hurt. Something hurt so much. And he couldn't stop it, couldn't do anything to attain what he inwardly longed for.  
So the only way to live with it, to live with the whole situation that probably wouldn't ever change for him, was to compensate.  
He'd use his superior intellect to find something where he could compensate the stress, the dissatisfaction. For the moment, that was to learn and get as much information as possible. His mind needed entertainment but the most it needed distraction. And for a young boy without any close friend and a photographic memory, it was all the more important to sometimes find a way to escape the miserable memories haunting him down. There was no chance of ever truly forgetting them, but he'd at least try to distance himself from them._

* * *

_'Kaa-san.'_

_Yuuya's wife looked up from the book she'd been reading until now. It was Sunday, no school, no work, just the Hiruma family at home. Living alongside each other instead of together. And yet clashing and putting each other down._

_'What is it?', replied Youichi's mother in an unnerved tone and kneaded her temples as if she had a headache._

_The boy watched her reaction and movement very closely before answering. It was always better for one's own health to be able to know in what mood the counterpart was._

_'... There's a parents-teacher conference next week. Are you going?'_

_'Haahh... there's no way I'd go to such a meeting, peewee. I've got more important things to do, you know. ... did you ask your father yet?'_

_The elementary school boy with the untamed black hair and the intelligent yet distrustful eyes thought about if it was better to say the truth or to avoid an answer. Well, the latter wouldn't be conspicuous to his mother, anyway.  
She had not once noticed the scratches he'd gotten from fights with other children, some of them much older and taller than he was. They hadn't liked him being able to see trough them so breezingly, knowing more than them and having the guts to fight back as they started to bad-mouth the lank, slender boy.  
She had not once noticed the bruises he'd gotten from the few serious conflicts with his father. Usually, he didn't pay much attention to his son but ignored him or sent him away with a few curses. But a few times he hadn't been able to control himself and sometimes without apparent reason he'd treated Youichi so harshly that the boy wouldn't talk for the next day but vanish to his secret, high places in town or somewhere he hadn't been that far, exploring and assimilating every detail around him.  
And there, alone with himself, alone under the sky's vastness, wind streaming through his hair and around his limbs, free view over all the seemingly small roofs of the town and the sparkling river, there, Hiruma Youichi had been able to find his silence._

_'Did you hear me, Youichi? Why don't you answer me? Well-behaved children don't just stand there, getting on their parent's nerves and ignoring simple questions like this.'_

_The voice of his mother brought him back to reality; it didn't happen often that he daydreamed. In fact, it nearly didn't happen at all, so he was a little surprised about himself._

_'Sorry, kaa-san', he said.  
'... yes, I have. I've asked tou-san, but he said he hadn't time either.'  
Intentionally, the boy concealed the previous incident with Yuuya although his shoulder still hurt when he moved it too much. Probably, his mother would have judged the little penalisation as appropriate, anyway._

_'I see...'  
For a short moment, the woman sitting on the sofa closed her blue eyes. Then...  
'Come here for a moment, Youichi.'_

_Irritated, the boy followed her order. Without saying another word, his mother grabbed his skinny arm and pulled him nearer towards her until he stood only centimetres apart from her own face.  
It seemed as if the woman wanted to remember every tiny feature of Youichi's face. Her gaze even wandered over his pointed ears which were partly hidden under wild strands of hair but could be made out nevertheless. For a short moment, she frowned lightly before smiling. It didn't reach her eyes. Youichi had never seen it reaching her blue eyes.  
She let go of his arm._

_'Do you learn English in school yet, Youchi?', she suddenly asked._

_He shook his head.  
Well, in fact, they did learn English but only for a few weeks now. If one counted the foreign language lessons in the school building that was. He himself had gotten in touch with English some time before the regular lessons; as he'd heard some aliens walking past him in the city centre and conversing in that for him still unknown language, at a moment's notice he'd decided to study it. In the library he'd gotten himself a membership-card – which hadn't cost anything for he was still a small child – at least in terms of his appearance – and at once with fiery zeal combed through the upper floors where all the books concerning foreign languages, grammar, dictionaries and the like had their place.  
Within a few weeks he'd mastered not only the Latin lettering, but also most of the grammatical obstacles of the English language and had collected a firm base of vocabulary.  
In that time, he really did spend most of his daily free-time in the library and enjoyed assimilating every single new word and information that could calm his restless thoughts for some time.  
The English teacher of his class just continued teaching her pupils the basis knowledge and slowly built up on that – which indeed strengthened Youichi's basics and gave him more safety in his further studying, but went far too slowly on after his fancy._

_Did he learn English at school? The answer was 'no'. So it wasn't even a lie if he negotiated the question._

_'My, my... that's a good thing, I suppose.'  
And then, his mother laughed quietly, her left hand lightly covered her eyes._

_Youichi noticed that she acted slightly out of character; she was more easeful and – composed, it seemed.  
With downcast head, he stood there and considered the meaning of her saying such a weird thing. As his mother didn't say anything else anymore after a few minutes, the boy turned around and wanted to leave the house in order to stray through parts of the town he hadn't been that often until now. That way he would also avoid to upset his father unnecessarily. Today, he didn't feel like provoking Yuuya. Maybe, just today, he wanted to try once more to please his mother._

_Just as he had put on his shoes, his pointed ears twitched and he turned towards the sofa to hear his mother whispering._

_'I did not love__No forgiveness anymore  
__... only ballast for my soul'_

_He knew that somewhere in town she'd give private lessons for English, so it didn't surprise him that much to hear her mumbling in that language. Unlike the content which, how he was able to understand, was somewhat exceptional for her – at least he had that feeling because they didn't exchange many words over the days and most of them were orders on her part._

_Youichi paused for a moment and listened to the rest of her whispered – poem?_

_'And Love said No  
And I begged  
Begged for so long to let me go  
But Love said No...  
__...  
__The lack of understanding  
__made me blind  
__... did no-one find  
__the ones that should be saved?'_


	17. Contradictory

Thanks to everyone who still follows this story! Unfortunately, I wasn't able to upload the new chapter earlier due to some technical problems. I hope you 'like' the next part of Hiruma's past!

* * *

_Whispered poems._

_The next day she was dead._

_It was his father who found her; eyes closed as if she was sleeping, the hair flowing around her head weightlessly on the water in the bathtub which was reaching up under her chin. If she hadn't worn all her clothes, all the blood colouring the water she was lying in would have been the only macabre yet beautiful indication of her being gone. In her hands she still held the sharp kitchen knife with which she'd cut her own throat deep enough, so that even if a first aider had appeared immediately by her side, they wouldn't have been able to help her._

_It was his father who found her._

_But that didn't mean Youichi had had the chance to sidestep the view of his mother's dead body.  
__As soon as Yuuya had found his wife, he'd begun sobbing. And whilst he was still crying tears about the loss of the woman he once had really loved and adored, he called the school. Ordering his son home for any reason, he grabbed him as soon as he stepped over the threshold, pulling the boy with him and into the untouched bathroom.  
__There, he pointed at the woman in the water and looked accusingly at his son, who just stood numbed and stared at the bathtub, before starting to shout. Still, tears were running down his cheeks._

_'Do you have the slightest idea who the hell that is, Youichi?!'  
__He sobbed once more, his big hand trembled.  
__'That's my wife lying in there! And it's your very own mother lying in there! And now tell me what you see! Tell me what you see, Youichi!!'_

_The eleven year-old boy didn't move an inch. His eyes were wide in fear and disbelief. The voice of his father sounded dumb in his ears; as if he was surrounded by cotton wool and not really connected to reality. This fact changed fast for Yuuya pushed him against the bathtub's edge as he didn't answer. The cold edge pressed against Youichi's throat and made it hard for him to breathe._

_What did he see? What did he see? Did he see anything?  
__The question echoed in his head; again and again though he didn't get the meaning.  
__What had his father asked? Why would he want to know such a thing?_

_And then, after seconds had passed, he banned them. Banned the feelings that obscured his mind and thoughts and heart. What remained was his outward cold sense of analysing. And so he did what he'd been told, did for what he'd often gained distrust and rejection, did what was natural to his character and intelligence but not helping his hurt child's soul at all._

_'I – see kaa-san. She's lying in the filled bathtub, dressed, and the water's red. It's hardly water anymore. She holds the big kitchen knife in her hands and she doesn't – doesn't – breath anymore. Her face and fingers are very pale, almost white due to the great loss of blood. Obviously, she's -', the boy swallowed, forbidding himself to show even the tiniest sign of possible crying, before he continued – he wouldn't please his father in that way as well, ' - obviously, she's dead.'_

_He closed his eyes._

_That had been his mother. Somehow. Once. A long time ago. At least, for the first years of his life he oddly enough had thought so. In truth, she never had been. And now this person was gone. What difference did it make? See? None at all.  
__This was just a corpse, a dead body. There was no meaning to a corpse. Neither sense nor use.  
__See? Everything's just as usual. No woman embracing you, protecting you, loving you. Neither back then nor now and how it looked like, in future neither. See? Everything's fine, isn't it?_

_And then, in a sudden flare of hate, teeth gritted together that it rankled, Youichi tried to turn around, to face the man he hated so much and who in this moment held him down like an ill bred, stupid pet.  
__Blind in fury, pupils vertical from the abrupt and strong emotion and his cool analysing vanished, he let his mind run wild, let his thoughts rush in both heated hate and freezing agony._

_No silence, not one single place in his head was left empty with his mind running amok in a desperate, this time really desperate try to find the saving door. Find the door which led to total soundlessness. Where no heart, stricken with fear, would beat as loudly as the booming rejection and neglect when Youichi fronted his father who just turned away his face, letting him get deaf of the aroar hush at home. Where no sorrows would keep him awake, forcing his mind to think again and again about solutions that wouldn't change anything, anyway. Where no anger at the rejection of strange children, at the assumption of adults he was just a child who'd be okay with being lied to, at his mother who didn't bother to let her eyes stray longer than a few seconds over him before letting his existence disappear into insignificance._

_The black-haired boy searched and searched in the few seconds his body struggled as well as his mind._

_He didn't find the saving door. No silence comforting him, whispering quietly that there was nothing at all to fear, nothing at all to be desperate about._

_'Fine', Yuuya suddenly said and removed his hand around Youichi's neck before thrusting his son aside as he turned around and left the bathroom. Youichi heard him shouting whilst going downstairs. He already knew the obscenities and indignities. He'd heard them so often and yet it still hurt a little. Though that was nothing compared to how he felt now. It didn't help that he remembered how he himself had called other people – young or grown-up – exactly the same reprobate way. It hadn't helped much, just left a tiny feeling of not having to be the only one cursed. Additionally, when he moved up from the ground he felt the new bruise on his ribs where he had hit the bathtub's edge._

_He didn't look again at the corpse. Just stood there, numb, before sneaking onto the floor and into his bedroom. There, he fished for the money he'd secretly acquired with little temporary jobs and a few blackmails. He'd just found out recently that there were many things adults didn't want other adults to know about – which was very rewarding for him... Without drawing any more attention, the elementary schoolboy slipped out of the house and stayed for the rest of the day until late into the night at several of his favourite places. Most of the time, aimlessly straying around before coming to a stop on the rooftop of a high building, a viewing balcony at the edge of the town, a swing on an empty playground._

_Time went by and the sky as well as the clouds were getting reddish, darker, and eventually velvet black._

_His father didn't notice him entering the house. He was speaking to someone on the phone and in the next days, several different people came to talk to Hiruma Yuuya, discussing things, giving him papers to sign, and so on. None of them noticed the boy who came back from school, left after a short period of time and came back home late in the evening again._

_Only some days ago, this behaviour would have been worth a lot of swearing and shouting, maybe even a good leathering now and then. Youichi had expected his father to become even more hackled up and angry, now, that he had all the trouble with the funeral and bureaucracy. He was askance and taken aback when nothing the like happened._

_His mother hadn't had many friends for her husband would have always kept a sharp eye on how much time she'd spent with other people. And that, in turn, had often been their argument, their reason to quarrel and shout at each other and eventually at Youichi._

_Therefore, it wasn't sudden when at the day of her funeral, only Yuuya, Youichi, a Shinto priest and a single silent woman were standing in front of her ashes, partly watching the priest's ceremonie so that they could take the remains home as soon as possible, partly lost in thought._

_The nameless woman disappeared after the ceremonie. She hadn't spoken one word of condolence to either of them but when the three of them had stood together, the sun burning in their necks, listening to old but nevertheless strong chants, Youichi had been able to catch a short glimpse on her face. She'd looked inconspicuous and rather averagely but also was the only one who would shed a few tears at that day. Somehow, that gesture made her likeable to the black-haired boy though he wasn't mature enough yet to comprehend the meaning behind the fact that such a person for his mother existed._

_It had been the evening after the funeral when Yuuya called for his son.  
__His voice was calm. Outsiders would have sensed it gentle. Youichi could sound out the restrained tautness and guessed that he probably could expect having to go back into his room without any supper.  
__That did happen from time to time and he was used to irregular meals for a long time. He had soon learned that, if he was hungry, he couldn't always rely on a filled refrigerator, so he'd used his own money to buy whatever he needed. Fast, he'd discovered the advantages of chewing and bubblegum though he noticed he preferred the latter._

_The calm voice called a second time and Youichi followed the order.  
__When he entered the living room, his gaze immediately went to the couch – the last place he'd seen his mother still alive. At the same place now, his father sat. He'd put his elbows on his thighs, between them he held something in his big hands._

_'Come over.'_

_Still calm. Youichi was suspicious. Did the unlovely final come now? Had it been rash to assume – to hope – that his father had other things in mind than focusing his own frustration and pain on him?  
__Well, obviously, the eleven-year-old thought sarcastically but at the same time wearily and somehow sad.  
__He stepped forward._

_'Sit down.'_

_He sat down on the furniture, as far away from his father as possible without looking too patently._

_'I – have to show you something', the adult beside him started. Did he sound – insecure? That couldn't be. That was out of character for his father._

_And carefully, as if he was holding precious porcelain, Yuuya handed three sheets of paper to his son. Youichi recognized his mother's handwriting at once._


	18. Profane

Thank you all for your patience. Please enjoy this chapter!

* * *

_The minutes passed by. _

_Yuuya snatched the suicide note away from his son as soon as said one had read them through. Maybe he even knew of his more than just 'good' memory – photographic memory, to be precise.  
__Part of what his mother had written there had reached Youichi's comprehension, part of it had not though. _

_'Leave... leave me alone, Youichi.'_

_The black-haired boy turned his head towards the tall man sitting right next to him on the couch. One of Yuuya's hands covered his forehead, whilst the other held the sheets of paper.  
__His fingers twitched.  
__Youichi stood up.  
__The sheets fell to the ground. The cold, bare ground.  
__Youichi ran.  
__Hands reached out for him as he banged into the entrance door, trying to escape exactly those hands which now, for the first time since his mother's death, grabbed him once again around his upper arms.  
__Eyes came down until they were on the same level as his own when Yuuya bent down, still holding tight onto his son's skinny limbs._

_'I told you to leave. Which part didn't you understand, Youichi? You were too slow.'_

_He didn't want to run away. Everything inside him screamed to get away how his father had ordered him, to let everything that happened behind him. And at the same time everything inside him bristled to just flee instead of proving that he was someone. That he was someone who didn't want to be either ignored or slapped or beaten. That he had enough of longing for the respect of others. That he possessed something that might – someday – develop into self-respect. And independence. Hopefully.  
__A part of Youichi's mind decided that now was the time. And so he began to speak. With a child's voice but words like an adult's whilst his eyes narrowed._

_'It doesn't matter if I understand. You'll always find a reason to wreak it on me. Whatever that 'it' is. I don't want to know it anymore. It doesn't interest me.'_

_The black-haired boy stared into his father's furious eyes. Part of him held back the tears, part of him was filled with cold anger. Cold..._

_'Let go.'_

* * *

_The days passed by._

_Youichi went back to school. On the outside it was as if nothing had happened. He wasn't even sure if his teachers knew about the funeral. He hung out in the city, on rooftops of high bureau buildings, in the library and sometimes even at playgrounds when they were empty. He didn't lose interest in blackmailing a few adults for free bubble gum, food or anything he wanted in those moments. As long as it distracted him..._

_Neither he nor his father spoke to one another. He'd gotten his beating. After which, for the first time, he'd had to stay two days at home to recover. But after it nothing else had come. No shouting, no curses. Just the all-too-well-known disregard. And he was fine with it. Youichi told himself that there was no reason to bemoan the silence standing like a screaming wall between him and his father. There was nothing that could have changed their situation. _

_And he'd always been fine with being by himself. That didn't disturb him._

_The days passed by. _

_And nothing changed._

_The weeks passed. _

_And the coldness remained._

_Years passed._

_And short before his thirteenth birthday, for the first time Hiruma Youichi met people who didn't let themselves be scared away by his by now disrespectful, threatening, even malicious behaviour._

_Yeah, thought a part of Youichi's head unconsciously. They never just ran away. Those two fucking idiots... _

_Others would follow Kurita's and Musashi's example. He didn't know back then though. It was a thing not even he could have had predicted. _

* * *

They had all been there. Every single member of the Deimon High Amefuto Club had been in the hospital to visit their captain and quarterback. Fortunately, Musashi had been thoughtful enough to prevent them from entering Hiruma's room. Their captain wouldn't have liked being seen sleeping. It wasn't something he did in front of others. So, in Takegura 'Musashi' Gen's opinion that was a very bad idea.

After Hiruma's father had been arrested for remand  
(presumably, the accusal would be illegal gun possession; bodily harm of a juvenile and ward wouldn't be mentioned – Hiruma had already made sure that),  
Anezaki Mamori had phoned and told him about the happenings. Together they'd had an eye on the unconscious blonde who'd looked oddly easeful in his medical recovery sleep.

It was the third day after Hiruma had been hospitalised; most of the Deimon Devilbats were attending classes in school and their Kicker had to work exceptionally.  
On an attentive doctor's warning, the young man had gotten a single room. Within those three days the patient hadn't woken up more often than once a day and then only for a few seconds in which one couldn't tell how much of his surroundings he could see clearly. But the doctors agreed that that was no negative sign; his body recovered and in order to get back all the lost energy, it now compensated the obvious lack of sleep. Youichi's slender hand was connected with a drip through which he obtained the needed nutrients and liquid.

A nurse had opened the windows early in the morning for it was a mild, sunny day and the wind rustled kindly in the trees in front of the hospital building.  
Low noises were carried up to the blonde's pointed ears: voices, the peeping of machines, parking cars outside, wheelchairs, lifts, the clangour of jars and dishes, laughter, annoying birds...

Hiruma opened his eyes.


	19. Blessing

Thank you for your review, **TwiliteTGRgrl**! I'm happy you (and hopefully many other readers) are still into this story.  
Please enjoy the probably penultimate chapter!

* * *

'Two days left, only two days left!', cried Monta happily and jumped around like he always used to do if he was in a great mood.

Together with Kurita, Suzuna and Sena he enjoyed their free time after school in a café. Actually, they hadn't had much of a choice as their really massive center had just grabbed the three of them to invite them for a snack. It was Friday afternoon, school's out and feeling relaxed under the fine weather, the members of the Devilbats discussed a both thrilling and delicate topic.  
Short before Hiruma's committal into hospital, they had told Musashi about their plans for a party. It was more than appropriate regarding the last victories the team of Deimon had been able to attain, hence every member was hooked for further preparation. The tall kicker had given his okay but right now he and Mamori were discussing some things which would be rather uninteresting for the rest of the team – as Mamori had assured them with an excusing smile.

After having visited Hiruma – well, at least, they had tried – and being told he would recover relatively fast, the Deimon Devilbats now put all their energy into planning the party.  
Goes without saying, chaos was foreordained...

* * *

A grin.  
'Give it to me.'

'I'm sorry, I -'

Glinting, frosty eyes.  
'Now.'

The nurse shook her head desperately and pressed the writing board firmly against her chest as if to protect herself. One should give her credit for not backing off in this situation.  
'I'm really sorry, but I am not allowed to give y-you your patient's records, Sir! Now I have to ask you to go back into your bed. And I will call a doctor who will discuss this matter with you in my place.'

An amused but nonetheless vicious cackle which sent a chill down the nurse's spine was to be heard.  
Hiruma Youichi folded his arms in front of the chest, still grinning maniacally, his peaked teeth showed dangerously. The blonde tilted his head slightly, lifted one eyebrow and took another step towards the woman.  
It felt good.  
In fact, it felt damned great to be standing on one's own two feet again.  
Hiruma hated being forced to stay fixed at one place; as long as it was his decision – allright. No harm done. But because other people (didn't matter if it were adults with a doctor's approval or teachers with warnings) told him so – no way. He knew about his injury as well as his whole condition. He'd read all about injuries that were likely to occur at some time or another in American Football. As a team's captain and quarterback himself, he had to know about possible constraints that would doubtlessly effect his strategies in a game.  
So, he was informed about his condition and thanks to a very talkative male nurse about the detailed further treatment, as well. No need to let a patient's record exist when he was going to leave the hospital in the next hours, anyway.

Where had he stopped? Oh, yeah. Scaring some unwilling person a little more energetically.

Hiruma smirked and it didn't matter that he wore white, unguilty-looking hospital clothes and that his unstyled blonde hair hung down to his bony shoulders like an angel's, he was still approaching now in a dangerous, predatory way with a face which was of such handsomeness – stop!, thought the nurse appalled. What was she thinking, having thoughts like these about a patient who wasn't just a common youngster at all but, moreover, was about to threaten her!  
She took a deep breath, reached for the door handle and, without giving herself the chance to be caught by that suspicious student's looks again, closed it with a slam behind her.

Said much more than just suspicious student grinned satisfied. He hadn't even had to take up his arms and the result was still like he wanted it to be. Having a butcher's at his room, his gaze was caught by the half-opened window.  
Cloudy. Grey. Windy. But somehow comfortable if he compared the outdoor weather with being stuck inside a hospital room.  
As the tall quarterback bent down to reach for his shoes and luggage which laid in front of his bed, a sharp pain pierced through his upper part. He grint his teeth together and surpressed a hissing. Closed his eyes to shut away the pain, the heat, the memories.

_Did you know? You always were a nuisance. I tried to persuade her into playing mother but it seems like that one failed. Could have guessed that from the beginning, though. Which person still right in their mind would just waste their time on a useless brat?_

_- You really think I'm interested in that fucking shit you're spitting out? Don't make me laugh. _

_... Just like I assumed. Someday, a tainted being as you would have to destroy what I'd built up. Squeezed into my life and had nothing better to do than disturbing us. I really tried to get along with you, you know. But what with all that attention you expected, all the money you needed, all the noise when you'd been younger... it was so troublesome. You must understand that, it's nothing personal. Maybe, it is up to me after all. My fault for not being able to cope with all those stressfull things like looking for a child and so on...Nobody's perfect, hm?_

_- ... shut up._

_Usually, I'm a composed and easy-going man, you know. But eventually, even my nerves are all on edge. And believe me, any person would snap at some time or another. You had something about you, an attitude, that provoked as soon as you entered the room. Well, you still have. It's as if you wanted to stab the next person who moves an inch. Back then, it was as if you begged for – don't know – my patience to come to an end. Either way, no good. Provoking adults may be fun for a certain time but will finally lead to you being trounced._

_- I said, shut the fuck up._

_... I know what you said, Youichi. So what? What do you want to do? They've nicked me, satisfied? Let me at least finish my farewell speech. After all, you're my son and supposed to listen to what I have to say._

_- No, I'm not. And I've never been and I'm fucking glad about that._

_... seems like my plans went wrong from the very beginning. I could neither bring myself to loving you nor get rid of you. _

_- I don't need it._

_What?_

_- I don't need your fucking love or whatever. But unfortunately, I got used to living by now, so I'd appreciate staying alive for a little longer, bloody bastard.  
__Now, just listen well to what I have to say:  
__I'm not interested in paying attention to any old arse who crosses the street, even less to a distorted convict who got on my nerves longer than it was good for him.  
__By the way, did they find your lair of illegal weapons? If they let you have a look at them, I'm sure they'll be to your content, fucking wrinkly._

_... you scheming brat... The police will find out about those fake traces of contraband weapons of yours. You're just a high schooler, a foul youngster without any experience of life. Worthless and a real disgrace to anyone around! How dare you, Youichi -_

_- Finished? Took you long enough for such a shitty farewell speech, don't ya think?  
__And don't worry about the police, I'm well able to handle them. 'If' they track me down, that is. And, to be honest for once, I dare doubt that.  
__Now, I've got much more important business to attain. Hope, we'll never meet again. For your own fucking sake._

_And then, he'd trashed his mobile. Of course, he'd saved all the important numbers and information and transferred them onto one of his numerous other ones. He didn't really care for his mobiles and other electronics. Not even his black notebook, although that was a little more serviceable than anything else, so he didn't really want to miss it either. But in the end, everything he needed was memorised in his mind. Memorised, copied, stored, organised. Well, at least, most of it. Photographies, whole galleries he could open at will and look at them without hurry. A mixed blessing. Forgetting troublesome things or seemingly unimportant things or even uninteresting things would never be easy that way..._

His ears were rustling and in front of his closed eyes a sheer explosion of colours that vanished just to leave a blinding white behind made him unable to concentrate on his surroundings. And in the next moment – he opened them and found himself leaning against the edge of his bed, one hand on the blanket.  
Damn it, he thought grimly. My circulation's still down... no fucking time to waste here...  
Hiruma inhaled deeply and – this time a little slowlier – dressed himself, out of the bothersome white hospital clothing and finally back in his own predominantly black gear. Fit him better, anyway.  
The bandages were only hardly to be seen under his sweater but for the case of doubt he grabbed his jacket, too. The needles for the drip had been pulled out of his hands by Hiruma as soon as he'd regained consciousness but the nurses had played on him being too worn out for the first twenty-four hours after the committal that they'd managed to prick all over his crook of the arm, as well. Long live long-sleeved shirts.

Unfortunately, Musashi hadn't brought any hair gel at his last visit so his styling wouldn't be perfect until he got home. At least, the tall kicker of the Devil Bats had thought of explaining to him the current situation at school and thanks to several self-made slaves Hiruma had a very detailed idea of what had happened during his absence. Apparantly, quite a few people had kicked over the traces and there wasn't any better way of improving both his recovery and his mood as letting them remember the fatality of his machine gun's bullets.

Now, now, are we a little late, fucking doc?, thought the blonde youngster amused. Amused in a very dangerous way.  
But the lucky doctor just happened to open his room's door the next second, so Hiruma was generous enough to overlook it. No need to stay any longer than necessary. He was ready for leaving and so should be his patient's record.

A grin.  
'Give it to me.'

A troubled look by the educated man.  
'I'm sorry?', he asked and frowned lightly.

Glinting, frosty eyes.  
'I'm not but give it to me, anyway. Now. For I am sure that your fucking nurse Yumi informed you about my demand. By the way, isn't it hindering for a medical carreer to get into that Yumi's pants whilst at the same time you've got a pregnant fiancée?'

The slender high schooler cackled viciously into the stunned womaniser who only needed three seconds to reconsider his situation, decide, fetch the claimed patient records and hand it over.

Pleased with himself and his beloved black Devil's Handbook, Hiruma Youichi left the hospital.

Far, far back in his mind, a low voice still whispered. About the imprisoned Hiruma Yûya, the call he'd gotten from him out of prison the night before, the wrath, the heat in his shoulder, the despise.

The sky somehow fitted his mood – grey, an undefinable mixture of different colours that disappear together in a dye of nothingness.  
Away from the blinding white of the hospital, from the blabbering nurses and doctors and patients and visitors. His head was noisy enough, even without all the riot around him.

Ignoring the people on his way home, he tried to blank out the past. To focus on nothing in particular, to let go of thinking.  
To let go...

_But I can't really let you go either. Not that I wouldn't want it, you're old enough to make it without being spoiled and taken care of. Nonetheless, I find that – it's a feeling of losing a precious property of mine. Not very comfortable, to be honest. You should be happy, Youichi. Maybe this is the parental part of myself that you longed for for so long. Not wanting to release one's child. No letting go..._


	20. Silent

Here it is - the final chapter of 'Silent Noise'.  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed this story and told me how they liked it! Thank you for reading and supporting it, I really appreciate that you stayed the course with me.  
Hopefully, I could write an appropriate 'end' for Hiruma's story - I welcome any comment, please feel free to tell me how you think about it.

Ah, and - well, I'm quite sure I never declared it but until now nobody did ever complain about it, so I didn't bother either. Anyway: The original characters are of course owned by　いながきりいちろ and　むらたずうすけ. This story's idea is mine, though.

Shruika

* * *

His breath formed little white clouds disappearing in front of his face. The sky was grey, just like the whole town with all the half-melting, half-staying snow. Only the new falling snowflakes glittered in a perfect, pure white. Those filigree crystals... fucking annoying if one wanted a high visibility. Hiruma Youichi, hands in his black coat's pockets, a scarf wrapped around his neck, wearing the usual trousers that underlined his slender figure, turned abruptly around.  
Absolutely nothing was perfect; there was always the danger of one small mistake, of one person not acting like they were supposed to (although that was more than unlikely if he himself was involved)... Getting things the right way was a fight. He never forwent fights. Well, at least not if he possessed a chance of winning. They cast out the boredom and sometimes part of the noise. His noise. His very own, personal noise.

Even through the cloudy sky which looked more like a field covered by snow the setting sun was to be seen. Like a very ugly jellyfish dissolving in its surroundings. Inwardly, the blonde youngster shrugged, slightly amused. Such absurd ideas coming up in his mind – must be the blame of the fucking team. There was no-one else he was around with so often that he would actually remember their way of thinking. Anyway, he wouldn't even try it if it hadn't any use for a match and appropriate tactics.  
'Che', he mumbled, looking down at the town's numerous roofs. It's been over three months but they haven't given up yet on searching for some hints about my birthday date.  
Over three months ago, the whole team of the Deimon Devilbats had thrown a party to welcome their devilish quarterback and captain back. Out of hospital. Out of...  
Whatever. They didn't know any details and it was better for everyone letting it stay that way.  
… No question, he hadn't been willing at all to stay as long as the doctors had intended him to. No fucking way. And – oh, wonder – he'd managed to persuade them quite fast after opening his eyes from consciousness.  
Three months... full of training, competition, so-called friendly matches (in which Youichi still goaded his teammates like a commander of hell, of course – if destroying a friendly team meant an improvement of their own abilities – let's fucking kill them!), more training and lots, lots of bullet's fusillades.

Now, in late December, they still practised but the snow, the ice and cold made it hard to do it properly on the field and over the holidays the school's ground was locked and most of the students wanted to spend time with their family, friends and the like ...  
The tall, scrawny-looking yet well-trained youngster (and probably youngest better-be-taken-serious delinquent in town and surroundings) let his glance ramble over the scene under him; just all times, he still preferred high places. High places where only the sky would tower above him, nothing else. The daily noise of life would be far below, far away...  
And thoughts could wander.  
Could stray.  
Could disappear, unbound.

A few days before had been the last day of school, of regular practising before New Year. His team mates had decided to meet up this evening and go to the temple in order to welcome the new year together. Youichi hadn't agreed to join their group but hadn't said he wouldn't either. So the others just took it as a silent yes and were soundlessly looking forward to him coming sooner or later.  
It didn't really bother him, though.

Looking back, he found his team quite courageous throwing a party without having a reason, just like a win against some strong Football team, for example. But Musashi had bolstered them in their project, ignoring Hiruma's threats, even saying it would encourage them to practise with more effort after they'd gotten their party. Which the quaterback was well aware of. But putting the screws on the Devilbat members was something he wouldn't quit just for the sake of reason. Also, being as prepared as they'd been there really hadn't come up any problems. Apparently, the fucking baldy had calculated as precisely as possible both the expenses and the following achievements.

He remembered the first week after the party. The more or less normal life was back and like usually around that time he'd been wandering across the schoolyard, a black double-barrelled rifle shouldered, his left hand casually in his pocket on the way to the clubhouse...

_Everything went according to the plan. Goes without saying his plan.  
Content with himself, the spiky haired blonde crossed the schoolyard and quietly kackled his demonic laughter which regularly sent a chill down other people's spine. Now, only one thing was still missing... One of the mobiles he had modified himself for his own dubious purposes vibrated in the backpocket of his jeans. With a slender, nimble-fingered hand he took it out and opened it._

_'Oi. How come you dare not to answer your phone when I'm calling? Finally got scared shitless because of me, trash?'_

_Hiruma's pointed teeth showed as he grinned maniacally, more than happy to hear the voice of the infamous Shinryuuji Naga Football player Kongo Agon.  
Exactly this one fellow had been missing until now._

_'Kekeke... It's not my fault if you're obviously dumb enough to type the wrong number into your phone. But back to business. You should've prepared everything by now regarding your connections to those retarded scouts. Otherwise it wouldn't be wise to call – still able to follow me, fucking dreads?'_

_'Fuck you.'_

_'I take that as a yes', Hiruma responded coolly. 'I didn't want to hear anything else to begin with. So, I suppose that's it for our collaboration. We both got what we agreed on. Till next time, fucking dreads, if you still think you're able to cope with the nightmares.'_

_`Tche, go die, you scum. Don't think you'd be someone. I'll beat the hell out of you if you wanna play cocky next time, got that?!'_

_`I'd like to see you trying that, fucking dreads.'_

_Both Agon and Youichi hung up at the same moment. There was silence after the short conversation which grew ever more intense as the insults had stopped. Hiruma looked around but the school yard was empty. The bell had ringed for the next lesson but it didn't bother him in the slightest that break was over. He just wasn't and definitely would never be the Sociology-type. That was more likely the fucking manager's free time activity. As an Amefuto team captain he had much more important things to attain to, which were – of course – more interesting, if not right dangerous._

_…_

_It was the following evening.  
Youichi was sitting in the door-frame of his tiny balcony, the windows wide open to let in a crisp breeze of air. It had rained not long before so there lay a certain humid and clean scent in it. Holding one of his guns in hands, polishing it absentmindedly, he stared out into the sky. Like he so often did. A bad habit because one had to be aware of what was in front in order to counter any assault. Still, he wasn't perfect. And unlike many others he got away with it thanks to his skills. Thanks to his experience…_

_One of his mobiles rang quietly; it had to be a text message of the fucking old man for he was the only one who possessed this number. Naturally, his slaves and possible business partners (if one wanted to call the people with whom he was doing rather dubious business like that), had gotten totally different numbers. In order to keep the distance.  
A little irritated because normally Musashi didn't write but just called him personally if something was the matter, the blonde youngster stood up, walked over, reached for the phone and read the message:_

_Hiruma-kun, just now the new equipment and the tickets 4 the upcoming pro tournament arrived. Regarding ur current condition (u just left hospital, 4 whatever reason, don't u 4get), I hope u didn't do it having some ulterior motives bcause the team's really happy. Well, c u next Mon at practise,  
Anezaki Mamori_

_Just as Hiruma was about to bung this cellphone somewhere as there was no way the fucking manager would not make use of his personal number (he had at least a fifty others so it wouldn't be that great of a loss at all), another arrived messaged announced itself. Frowning, he read this one as well:_

_Hiruma-senpai, plz don't be mad Musashi-senpai and Mamori-nee 4 giving us ur numbr. We'll never ever use it again! But before the long weekend we wanted 2 thank u 4 the gear – Kurita-senpai's already practising with it! As well as 4 the pro's tourn. – that's a great chance 4 us 2 watch the real players together as a team!  
Kind regards,  
the Deimon Devilbats_

_Against his will, Youichi had to lift an eyebrow in light surprise. He hadn't considered it impossible, nonetheless he hadn't expected the fucking team to dare writing him messages this early either.  
He turned around, ran a hand through his long hair, looked around in his room, searching for nothing in particular. Suddenly realising the meaning of all this, he felt restless again and thus started to pace up and down his small apartement.  
His mind rushed beyond any average borders, showing him so many, showing him reams of possibilities of how his life would go on from now on. His thoughts flew away like alarmed birds, strayed round countless corners and into dark, deeply hidden shadows like cats…  
Searching for the silence.  
Searching for the void of no words.  
Where neither words nor hands bruised.  
Where even his thoughts would stop causing him headaches.  
Where he could rest…_

_Angry about this incertitude of his, the scrawny student stopped in his movement, the sudden halt causing his earrings to jingle low.  
Che, why should he bother about something irrelevant like that? He'd made it the past four years if not even longer without anyone butting in and was still alive, wasn't he. The fettle didn't matter, as didn't the circumstances or his way of living. He managed to cope with problems on his own way. More than many others could say about themselves.  
And…, at this thought Youichi grabbed two mobiles, one his personal, one from the top of a bag full of them, let diappear his usual amount of weapons into the depths of his clothes (which, strangely, didn't change anything about his slender figure), slipped into a pair of shoes and went out of his apartement door. Fleet-footed walking down the staircase and outside crossing the street without paying attention to the cars at all. Walking farther on towards his current goal._

_And just in front of me lies the Christmas Bowl. In front of the Deimon Devilbats. In front of the fucking team. I'm the captain, I've got to concentrate on leading them to victory. I'm the quarterback, I wanna get with them to the top. It doesn't matter yet what lies beyond that. Not yet. Our only goal is the Christmas Bowl. There's no fucking reason why I should wonder about any time after that. I'll see it when that time comes._

_By now, the black dressed student had reached the dyke alongside the town's river. It was Saturday evening, the shadows streched slowly but steadily and the sun turned the summer sky's colours into a mixture of various shades. The noise of the cars, the streets, the labourers and people was not that omnipresent anymore but rather distant. Eventually, Hiruma relaxed.  
He was someone who could enjoy being alone quite well. In fact, he liked it, although one couldn't say he disliked being with others either. Aside from all the connections he had to numerous people and his startling, provocating appearance and demeanour, he was the type of person who needed time for themself, privacy. Time and room for his mind to wander without anyone close-by he had to deal with._

_Though downright bothersome at times, needing constant exercise and behaving like a bunch of headless chickens, his fucking team-mates didn't question his way of leadership. Or rather didn't dare, at least not in public. Which was the most healthy decision, anyway. Nevertheless, they didn't meddle with his decisions, didn't wholeheartedly try to impose anything upon him. They just accepted his way of being. More or less voluntarily. And he gave every single of them credit for it. He gave them credit for giving their best in every match, in practise and in keeping up the willpower to move forward step by step, even if it was a far cry. Not that he'd ever show that with more than a wordless kick in the arse or some recompense he could pass off as a light punishment leastwise. He was who he was. Hiruma Youichi, the devilish quarterback and captain of the Deimon Devilbats as well as the infamous tactician behind every strategy mercilessly used to crush any opponent or foe standing in his or his team's way._

_The promenaders quickened up their pace when they passed him, considering him either a punk, a member of the yakuza youth or a school bunking juvenile delinquent.  
Well, they weren't all that wrong.  
But it didn't matter to Youichi what people thought about him or how they called him. It just wasn't important to him. Maybe the cause of this attitude laid in his self-confidence which wasn't entirely based on his brains alone. Maybe the cause lay even deeper and was just a way of coping with past events and experiences that otherwise could have crucified him sooner or later. He didn't want to know. Simple as that.  
The blonde was still strolling over the dyke, farther veering away from the city.  
He thought about the messages he'd gotten. About their meaning.  
And about this, his mind was unnaturally calm.  
He was happy about them.  
He somehow felt happy, knowing not only the fucking old man and fucking fatty were content with his gesture but that also the others were chuffed about something as unspectacular as new gear and a few tickets. Felt almost as good as intimidating your counterpart.  
One of his slender fingers curled around the trigger of his double-barred rifle. A fusillade of bullets later, Hiruma felt very pleased.  
Exactly this feeling, he thought with a grin on his lips, had been missing._

_…_

The sun was setting and colouring the icy grey sky in a suavely reddish tone.  
It had gotten even colder but Youichi wasn't a frostbite; it didn't really bother him for most of the time he restlessly was in motion.  
One last glance over the town. A few seconds full of emptiness, full of so many different thoughts and feelings.

_A moment of silent noise_.

After a while, he welcomed it. After all, silence had not to be devoid of everything, had not to be dead.

Hiruma Youichi turned around, his hands still in the black coat's pockets, his chin and mouth covered by a scarf, and walked back the way he'd come.  
He wasn't thinking about it and there was no need to do so. He just did it and this simple decision kept his thoughts focused, kept his mind easeful.  
A smile that no-one saw twitched in the corners of his mouth.  
Later, they would have to blame themselves for waiting for him.  
But they did, nonetheless.

He didn't need to look back or cling to the past. He'd burnt his mother's letters. He'd made sure his father would stay in prison long enough. They were gone. The chains of the past that had forced the air out of his lungs, that had kept him from breathing whenever he had time to think about them, were gone.

And everything lay in front of him.


End file.
